Hide Away
by It Slowly Faded Away
Summary: The Dursleys, fearful of their nephew, decide that the best course of action is to dispose of him. Where do they leave him? France. There, Harry Potter grew up and learned of his most precious ally: himself. Armed with a new name and a new face, Harry takes them all by storm. Smart, Metamorphmagus Harry. AU. First Year.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _ **The sixth year.**_

 _Harry Potter loved music. He loved the way each key stroked would send a warmth through him, coursing through his veins and engulfing his body, taking each system down one at a time. The notes would rush over his skin, not quite touching him but burning him nonetheless. The sound of each melody, intertwining with its long lasting dance partner of harmony, made him rejoice. His toes would curl at the ends, digging into whatever surface they were currently settled upon. His hands would claw out, aching to touch, to feel, to taste the gentle breeze of music directly from the source itself. It gave him an ecstasy, one that he had never been able to recuperate with any other idea. It was intoxicating and numbing and he craved the sense of relief he would gain by brushing his hands over the delicate chords of string._

 _To be able to hear music was a gift that young Harry saw as priceless. To be able to live, live as a human being when such a thing should be impossible, was truly astounding. To hear and feel and see and smell and just sense the things that they did was phenomenal. Knowing that one day he would be gone from this earth, to be replaced by people that will one day too join the circle by dying and being replaced, was a marvel to see. To have the opportunity to be where he was was truly mind blowing for Harry Potter had the gift of living and he sought to never lose that gift. Why would he wish to lose it when there was so much to see, to do, to hear? Life itself was a glorious crash and fall of crescendos. Full of cymbals clinging together, clashing with a hiss of metal. Full of the graceful lull of sleep and the heavy humming that such an activity brought about in one's ears. You could hear the sound of the wind, whipping and licking your face as it sought to kiss anything and everything it could reach with its lips. You could hear the gentle flapping of a bird's wings, the deep swallow of food as a dog sought out comfort, the rushing of a stream, breaking against mounds of rock. The world they lived in was never truly silent and the sound of it all was music to his ears and Harry Potter loved it. He loved music._

 _He never wanted to stop listening._

 _It was with a heavy heart that Harry realized where he was. He could hear the gusts of wind, whipping about his body, teasing his clothes with their heavy hands. Hear the sound of branches moving, grazing others. Hear leaves rustling and falling. He could feel the warmth of the sun upon his neck, though he could not see it. Feel the grass that stretched almost all the way up his leg, brushing up against him with a twinge of roughness. He could smell the scent of pine, knowing that trees were near. Smell the vague sense of air and water and just earth, knowing that while no one else might classify such senses as so, he did and would forever do. Upon opening his eyes, Harry saw trees lining the field that he was standing on. Pine trees just as he thought. He lifted his hand, dragging it through the grass -it itching and biting at his skin the whole way. Upon inspecting his feet, he saw that he was barefoot and proceeded to curl his toes into the rich, red mud that rested beneath them. His pale skin was marred with the soil._

 _The wind was causing the trees to sway in an elegant dance, each looking as if they and their closest partner had been doing just this for years, decades even. Perhaps centuries. It rushed through his ears and out his mouth. His black hair whipped about him, slapping him in the face each time he tried to do so. It was not just the rustling of the leaves that Harry heard though. No it was not it indeed for Harry also heard something else._

 _A woman. Calling his name._

 _Maybe he should label it as calling though. His voice lifted just barely above the wind. It came out soft and gentle; hesitant and yet not. The mane seemed to roll off her tongue and play wicked;y with nature as it danced and frolicked about on its way to his ear. It was carried across the field he was in as if it were a feather being strung through hair. It was both a praise and a summon, as if the name -his name- was the most beautiful thing in the world, as if the owner to this voice wanted nothing more than to hear him. To see him. To touch him._

 _This voice filled him with a great warmth and in that moment Harry Potter knew what love was and he ignored the fact that that sense of fulfillment would vanish soon, as it did all the other times he had this dream, and that he would forget the feeling as soon as his eyes fluttered back open. To him, this dream never happened. It was not real and unfortunately for him that was exactly the case. The dream was not real._

 _But that didn't stop him from feeling the way he did at the moment._

 _His eyes searched frantically about him for the source of such a lovely, musical voice. They traced along the edge of the forest that stretched around him at the base of the treeline. They bore deeply into the sky, pondering the thought of an angel being sent to him (for really the voice was just that good). They raked through the tall grass, searching perhaps for someone that was being concealed from him. No matter where he looked though, Harry could not see anyone. He could not find them._

" _Harry . . ." the voice repeated, louder this time. He perked up a bit, knowing the phrase would be repeated and that he would be able to focus on its direction. Indeed, his name was repeated and his eyes travelled over to the area that he pinpointed, his ears supporting the observation as his name reached him once more._

 _It was coming from the trees._

 _He made his way over there, the grass slapping at his lithe little body as he jumped above and through it, not quite accomplishing either action. Mud clung to the bottom of his feet as they digged into the earth and he was surprised to feel the warm wind brush up against his skin, wrapping and hugging him in a firm embrace. He could not see the women but he knew without a doubt that he needed to reach her, to find her, to talk to her. He needed her._

 _When he reached the forest, he came to a sharp halt. Once again his feet dug into the ground and once again he was dirtied but Harry didn't mind it. In fact, he barely registered it. His eyes roamed the land, trying to see someone but finding no one. He tilted his head in all sorts of direction, peering around the heavy trunks of trees and peeking through leaves and spying the ground for a sight of feet or cloth. However, he found nothing, and deciding that he could risk it, ventured into the forest._

 _There was no sound save the soft crush of sticks and leaves beneath his weight. Not a single owl hooted or a cricket chirp. There was no rustling of hooves or swishing of fish. It was just him and he loved it. Craved it. As he ventured deeper into the thicket, harry noticed the world around him darken and erupt into noise._

 _If one focused hard enough, and it really was hard, they could make out the sound of a mouse scurrying through the trees and the grass and the soft thump of another's heart, for he had already been hearing his own. The scent of pine wafted to his nose once more, much stronger now as he was standing right next to the source. It was intoxicating and overwhelming. When he focused more upon the smell though, Harry realized that pine wasn't the only scent there. His face turned up and a pleased smile tugged at his lips as he caught a hint of it once more, cupping his face with warm hands._

 _Vanilla._

 _Harry didn't know what it was about the smell of vanilla that made him smile. He didn't know anyone that favored it. His aunt preferred lavendar and his teacher for the year always smelt like crayons and coconuts. Perhaps it was just the fact that his aunt didn't use it that made Harry smile. He associated the smell with warmth and love. Safety._

 _Home._

 _The sound of wood snapping had Harry forgetting his thoughts, whipping his head around to the direction of the sound. What he saw nearly caught his breath._

 _He could barely see her. At first, Harry thought he was imagining her, but then the air was pierced by a quiet, muffled giggle. Behind a tree that was about ten, twenty feet to his right was a girl. Well actually it was a women, he noticed, correcting his thoughts. She was peaking out behind the tree's massive trunk, one of her hands digging into the bark and holding onto it as if it were something cuddly. Harry glanced down and noted with a pleased smile that she was barefoot, just like he was. That thought made him feel very warm inside, as if he had just had a mug of hot chocolate. She was wearing a pair of grey shorts that hugged her legs down to her knees. A baggy white v-neck hung comfortably on her shoulders. Freckles danced on her refreshingly pale skin, spotting her cheeks, making her appear sun kissed. She had the most beautiful hair; hair that went all the way down to her waist in dark red, fiery waves. He could see the color of her eyes, for they were too far away, but he felt them boring into his own face, inspecting his own physique. With a look down at himself, Harry blushed in embarrassment. There was nothing good for her to see. If Harry had to guess, he would say the women was someone in their late teens. She really was beautiful._

 _They stared at each other for what felt like hours, or at least it felt like that for Harry. He supposed that they very well could have stared at each other for hours since he knew he was dreaming and that he slept for roughly five hours. There was no reason to not do it. Harry wanted nothing more than to watch her. He never wanted to forget her face._

 _However, he wasn't allowed to do that for once more a giggle escaped her, breaking the silence, and the girl turned away, running deeper into the forest. Her hair whipped behind her, swimming in the wind as she gained speed. Harry's eyes widened in surprised as he jolted forward._

" _Hey wait!" He yelled, his voice coming out raspy from lack of use. His feet dug into the ground as he wove his way around the trees, his eyes tracking her form as he tried to keep up with her. He didn't know why but Harry felt that something bad would happen if he lost her and he really didn't want to lose her. He liked her. She felt safe._

 _The girl ran fast. Her legs jumped gracefully over fallen branches and giant rocks that popped out of the grass. She barely touched the moss that covered patches of the area. She splashed through a river that split the forest in half and it was here that Harry paused for just on the opposite side of the river, the world was cast in darkness. There was no sun or even a moon and though he could still see the trees it was only just. The ground seemed to be covered in frost and Harry could see her breath as the girl panted with the amount of effort she was using to run from him. The world beyond the river, just out of his reach, looked like a scary one. He swore that the trees were laughing at him but he knew they weren't. The forest over there made not a single sound either._

 _The girl turned around for a second, her eyes locking with his, before she flashed him a smile and began to run away again. The forest got darker and darker as her figure ran into and before long, she disappeared entirely._

 _Harry spun around rapidly, look about him with a sense of panic ebbing at his thoughts. He couldn't see the girl anywhere and she had just been standing right in front of him, not even ten feet away, mere seconds ago. He made to step forward, to cross the river, when his name once more broke through the silence and reaching his ears like a desperate little hand._

" _Harry!" This time though his name was said sweetly. There was nothing innocent or happy about it at all. It was dripping with terror and his blood curled as he recognized it as coming from the girl, despite the fact that he hadn't really heard her speak. His name pierced the forest over and over again, rising in volume as she screamed. Harry found himself running, running through the forest, running to find her, running to save her, running to the darkness, running . . ._

 _And running . . ._

 _And running . . ._

Harry woke with a start as he sat up rather forcefully, a gasp escaping his lips in an inaudible whisper. Sweat trickled down his brow, sliding down onto his cheeks and neck. His chest lifted with heavy pants, his gulps of air coming out strained and hot. Harry fumbled around him before wrapping his hand around his glasses, moving to shove them onto his face. Once he had the ability to see again, Harry realized that he wasn't in the forest anymore and that no one was screaming his name, waiting for him. No, he realized with a slow look around, he was in his cupboard.

The cupboard under the stairs had been Harry's room for the past five years, since he had been placed in the care of his aunt and uncle. Inside the cover was a very thin mattress and a small, ripped blanket that was thinner than Harry was. He had no pillow. Shelves lined the "headboard" of his bed, each filled with a row of cleaning supplies. There was a light switch on the wall but no light bulb hung from the ceiling. Vernon hadn't wanted to buy a new one since the last one had broken. Harry would be the only one to need it anyway and as far as anyone else was concerned, that wasn't enough of a justification to buy one, which Harry had to admit that he agreed with. He was only one person after all. In the corners of practically the whole cupboard there were spiderwebs and cobwebs. Small spiders crawled along the baseboards and on the shelves. Harry didn't particularly mind them. They had been here for about as long as he had. It was their room too.

With a sigh, Harry turned his body around a bit and grabbed a watch that he had stored underneath his mattress. Last year, he had found the watch on the playground at his school. It had been buried beneath a little bit of mulch and while Harry knew that someone was probably looking for it he couldn't help but think that he needed it more. He quite liked having something that was his, even if it was just a "stolen" watch. Checking the time, he began to push back his blanket. It was 6:30 and he needed to start breakfast. Vernon had to be at work at 8 and Harry didn't want to be late. That wouldn't be fun.

Opening his cupboard door, cringing slightly as it squeaked, Harry thanked whatever god there might be out there that his Aunt had left it unlocked. Usually the Dursley's would lock his cupboard door before they went to bed, convinced that he would steal their food or something in the middle of the night, but last night they had been rather tired, having had exhausted themselves with a day out in town, and had gone to bed almost immediately upon arriving home. Harry was okay with this despite the fact that he didn't get any dinner, not that he would have anyway. It meant he didn't have to clean the kitchen or tidy up the sitting room. No, instead he got to have an extra two hours of sleep, which, if he were honest with himself, he desperately needed.

He walked quietly through the hall and into the kitchen, immediately grabbing a pan and setting it on the stove. As Harry busied himself with getting the Dursley's breakfast ready, he found himself subconsciously thinking about the last few years and how he had come to be at his aunt and uncle's home.

According to them, he had arrived on October 31st. Someone had left him on their doorstep with a letter describing what had happened to his parents and that they, the Dursley's, were now responsible. Harry had always found this odd but Aunt Petunia had told him many times that she had had nothing to do with her "freakish sister" and had had no idea what was going on in her life at the time. It didn't matter to her how she was told that her younger sister was never going to visit her again for she was just glad that the "freak" was gone. Harry's parents, he didn't know their names, had been drunks. Unemployed drunks to be exact. Apparently they had gotten themselves into a spot of trouble, having gotten involved with some sketchy people, and on the night they had died, they were trying to evade these people. It had been raining and their car had spun out of control before quite viciously hitting a tree,"or something foolish like that, the idiots" his aunt had said. Harry's parents had died upon the impact almost immediately, but Harry, who was safely tucked away in the back seat, had managed to leave relatively unscratched, the exception being a scar from some flying debris like glass and metal.

Harry had heard throughout the years that he was not wanted. They hadn't asked for him and he was not their child to worry about. He had been a disease, something meant to burden their lives just like he had their doorstep. It was because of this that they used Harry as a maid so to speak. He was an extra set of hands and they expected him to use those hands for their betterment. He was to make their meals, clean their house, iron their clothes, tend the yard, basically anything that they wanted him to do. It was a rare occasion that Harry found himself outside of Number Four Privet Drive's confines. Some call this his home but to Harry it was his prison.

Harry wasn't like his cousin Dudley. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon loved Dudley. They called him a good boy, a special boy. Their precious little baby. While Harry didn't understand this, for Dudley wasn't any of those things as far as he could tell, he couldn't help but think it was his fault. They scowled at him, deemed him a freak and a nuisance, and Harry knew that if he could ever fix what it was that was wrong about him, they would think the same things about him as they did their son.

Deep down though Harry knew that this was impossible. The Dursley's would never love him. Especially Vernon.

He pushed these thoughts away though as he heard the Dursley's start to move around and get up. There wasn't time to think about this. Vernon would want his coffee immediately and Harry hadn't even put a pot on. Sighing, he turned away and put his focus on breakfast.

* * *

"You are to have these finish by the time we return from town. I expect the house to be clean and in top shape. Vernon has an important meeting today and I want him to come home to the perfect house, as he should always. There will be consequences if this isn't done and done right. Do you understand me boy?"

Harry nodded, not even looking into his aunt's eyes as she passed him a folded piece of paper covered in blue ink. In front of him Petunia stood with a pinched face, her lips pursed in a line of disgust as she gazed down at him with an air of disinterest. Behind her, Dudley smirked and shook with laughter, no doubt finding it amusing that Harry had to clean while he went out to go shopping for new toys and such.

"Very well." Petunia sniffed and just like that she lead Dudley out of the house and into the car. Harry didn't bother to watch them leave. He was too busy looking at the list in his hands that he had unfolded upon hearing the door shut closed.

 _Kitchen. Mop and bleach the floors._

 _Sitting room. Put out the fresh flowers from the garden._

 _Weed the garden out._

 _All three bathrooms._

 _Wash the tubs._

 _Vacuum the whole house._

 _Clean your cupboard out._

 _Make the beds._

 _Dudley's room._

 _Dust._

 _Paint the mailbox._

 _Repaint the fence._

 _Power wash the house._

 _Clean the wind chimes and bird bath._

 _Sweep the driveway._

 _Wash the windows._

 _Mow the yard._

 _Freshen up the house._

 _Laundry._

 _Organize the basement._

 _Have dinner done and ready by 6:00. The dishes must be cleaned before we get back._

Not for the first time in his life, Harry despised the Dursley's. There was no way that he was going to have everything done on time! It would take at least an hour to do the basement, painting and windows, power washing, laundry, and the yard. Each! However, Harry knew that he had to at least try. It didn't matter how hard and quickly he got things done, he knew this. Petunia always found something wrong with his chores, pointing out flaws that Harry himself could never see. His aunt wanted perfection and unfortunately for Harry, he wasn't able to deliver. Knowing the consequences of failing though pushed him to start cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps, if he was lucky and got done with most of the list to standards, his aunt would allow him to have a little bit of bread for dinner.

He could only hope.

* * *

His neck was bent downward and his body shook with quick, sudden movements. His arm was jutting out beneath him, scrubbing furiously at the floor and the dirt that was invisible to him there. Within the last couple of hours, Harry had managed to clean practically all of the house, or at least the inside of it. Currently, he was on his hands and knees, a bucket of soapy water at his side, with a coarse little brush in his right hand.

For as long as he could remember Harry had been cleaning up the Dursley's messes. Be it in the way he mopped their floors or wiped down their countertops or swept up their lies with smiles. Everyone expected him to fix them, to make everything as good as new again. It did not matter how large the situation, how messy it became, he was to clean it all up, to tidy things back into boxes and make it all polish with an easy shine.

He hated it. He hated all of it.

He hated the way his aunt would coo at his cousin, would run her hand through his hair and smile lovingly when he only ever received sneers of disgust. He hated the way his uncle would come home with gifts and broad grins, only to growl and scream when the image was ruined by something insignificantly small for it was, no doubt, always Harry's fault. He hated how he had no friends, all chased off by boys at school, boys hand picked by Dudley Dursley himself. He hated how the girls with pink ribbons in their hair would giggle as he walked past, hiding their jeers and smirks behind their hands. He hated the muffled remarks of "freak" and the sideway glances the neighbors would throw at him while tucking their own children safely into their side as if to protect them, protect them from him. He hated the way the windows would shine with a clarity so clear and so focused and yet no one could ever seem to see through them. He hated how only the spiders crawling within the depths of his cupboard would provide him a sense of comfort, of contact.

He hated that no one ever seemed to smile at him. To laugh. To praise. To cherish.

To love.

God how he hated it all.

Perhaps more than it all though he hated how he could not honestly claim that things had not always been this way. He could not remember ever seeing his relatives look at him with anything remotely similar to the way they gazed at Dudley. He could not remember gifts or parties or hugs. He could not remember laughs with friends or outings to the park, where his only worry would be if the swings were empty or not. He could not remember a single time where he was apart of this family, of any family, and he didn't know if he should feel relieved or upset by this for at least this way he knew his place, for it had always remained the same. He didn't really know what he was missing out on for really he had never had it and could never understand it.

It was with a sigh that he dipped his brush back into the bucket of soapy water, allowing for a few drips of it to fall onto his aunt's floor. He would be wiping them all away any second anyway. It didn't matter to him.

* * *

Harry had been right when he said he wouldn't be able to finish the list. By the time Dudley and Aunt Petunia had come back home, he had finished everything save some of the outside of the house. When he heard the sounds of his aunts keys jingling as they tried to unlock the door, Harry had looked up with a panicked expression, his eyes wide and his mouth thin. Tossing the duster into a bucket in the hall, Harry jogged into the kitchen to check on the rolls he had put in the oven. Since Harry knew that he wouldn't have the time to finish all his chores, he had made his uncle's favorite meal: lasagna, green beans, mashed potatoes, and rolls. Harry had even put the man's favorite tea on and was considering baking a cake, chocolate of course. However, his aunt had arrived sooner than expected and he decided that a cake just wasn't going to happen. There was no way Petunia was going to let him bake it, not when she was here anyway. Oh she would have been pleased (dare he say it) if he had started to make it _before_ but after she got there? No. Not at all.

Petunia and Dudley bustled inside the house, bags swaying and bouncing against their thighs and hips as they shoved them through the doorway. Dudley graciously (had) dumped his load onto the ground and Harry flinched as he heard the sound of glass shattering. That would, no doubt, end up being his fault. Petunia scowled at him as she placed her bags on the dining table.

"I see you failed to mow the yard and weed the garden." Her eyes narrowed as she inspected him, moving around his person as she looked at her kitchen. It was her most pretentious room. The shiniest and cleanest. "And look!" She screamed this, quietly stomping over to the counter farthest from her. "You left all these crumbs here you stupid little boy." She gestured at the counter.

Harry didn't see any crumbs but he chose to ignore that.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia." he mumbled, keeping his eyes downcast. He eyed her feet and noticed she was wearing red heels. A quick peek at her dress made him smirk inwardly. It didn't match.

"Oh you're going to be," she hissed viciously, snarling her teeth at him. In that moment Harry really did see the resemblance between his aunt and a horse. Petunia spun on her heel and left the kitchen, most likely expecting him to finish up and put away her bags while she went to watch television.

Running a hand through his tousled hair, Harry rolled his eyes. He picked up the bags that were left on the table and proceeded to put the objects inside away. It seemed Dudley got a new game . . . there were the noodles for Saturday's dinner . . . ah so Vernon _was_ out of toothpaste . . . . It was dull work but work nonetheless.

He did not fail to notice that there was nothing, nothing at all, in the bags that were for him. It was with slight deduction that he proceeded to the hall and picked up Dudley's bags. Yep. He had broken one of Petunia's new vases (she had bought six). Looking at the price tag, Harry winced.

Fuck.

* * *

Vernon came home at exactly 8:47. His routine was always the same. He parked the car, grabbed his suitcase, put on his hat, and got out. He would proceed to the door, where he would take off his hat and hold it in his hand, and walk inside to greet his wife with a kiss on the cheek. He would ask her how her day was and compliment her on how she was working so hard. Dudley would come and Vernon would either ruffle the boy's hair or greet him with a "hey there champ". Vernon would then set his hat and coat down on the sofa and his suitcase on the floor before heading into the dining room for dinner, where his happy little family would enjoy a pleasant meal. One that none of them had to make. It was all just perfect.

Only Vernon didn't come home that day like that. He did not close the door and kiss his wife, opting instead to slam it, making the pictures on the wall rattle, and curse as he walked dejectedly by Aunt Petunia. He threw his belongings onto the sofa, or rather over it, before making his way over to the glass cabinet by the window and pulling out a bottle of brandy and chugging it down straight from the bottle itself. Vernon then proceeded to slump into the cushions of the sofa, still nursing his drink, with a sigh. Petunia eyed him warily. Dudley continued to watch the telly.

"I got put on probation." Vernon said after a minute, his words tumbling out in a grumble. Harry winced as his uncle's voice rose. "They say I'm not "working to the best of my ability"." Uncle Vernon scoffed.

"What?" Aunt Petunia shrieked. Harry wasn't sure if it was because probation meant a pay degrade or that her husband was being "ridiculed". Harry, himself, was cheering on the inside. Put the fat oaf in his place!

"I know. Danson says all I do is yell at my employees and sit at my desk. Can you believe it?" _Yes_.

"Why that's absurd," Petunia mumbled and while her voice sounded indignant, Harry heard it as what it really was: boredom. His aunt could care less.

"Also, there's been someone stealing money from the firm. Embezzlement. Someone gave them a tip earlier in the week saying it was me. I've been told to stay home, with no pay, until the investigation was over." Vernon took another deep gulp of brandy.

By this point, Harry stopped listening. He didn't particularly want to listen to his uncle complain, especially since the man was indeed guilty of the crime. Also, Harry was getting wary by how much his uncle was drinking. Vernon almost always came home in a foul mood, at least when he saw Harry that's what it looked like. To add alcohol into that mix would surely not bold well for him, so Harry decided to focus on the mashed potatoes that he was mixing. Maybe he should add another spoonful of butter . . . just in case . . . .

The clinking of silverware against the Dursley's new plates filled the silence of the house. Vernon and Petunia talked in soft tones to one another. Having had strayed from the topic of work, at least for now, Petunia ratted on and on about how the lady down the street was caught having an affair with her housekeeper. A _woman_.

"It's disgusting," she sniffed, cutting up her lasagna into a nice little cube. "To think that such . . . _freaks_ exist is worrying. Why I heard from Dala that the husband had even joked about joining them! Can you believe that?!"

Vernon grunted and shook his head, shoving a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Before long, Petunia moved on to other topics. From the new earrings she saw in a window earlier that day to how she didn't like the new detergent, it made her feel itchy. Dudley talked around a mouthful of food about a new show he had started and how amazing it was that you could clearly see a character's brains being blown out. Petunia had stopped eating her lasagna when Dudley had described the most recent scene of said guts. Even Uncle Vernon looked a little green.

Throughout all of this, Harry had stood, watching, waiting, at the counter. His hands gripped the sink and he stood morosely, a dish towel wrung up in his hands. He was waiting for the batch of rolls in the oven to finish. The Dursley's were on their second helping and Harry knew his uncle would be wanting one soon.

Dinner time at Number Four was a bitter thing for Harry. He couldn't recall a time where he was allowed to sit with the others, to enjoy a meal. He had started cooking meals when he turned four, dinner at age five. It had always been the same. More often than not, Harry wouldn't get dinner at all and when he did it was to be eaten in the dark confines of his cupboard, away from everyone else and only after the kitchen was clean. Again. He hated watching the Dursley's eat, hated having to throw away all the food they didn't eat. He could feel the hunger pangs in his stomach and he knew that they knew he hadn't eaten a single thing in nearly a week but Harry knew, even as his eyes watched the green beans being forgotten, that he wouldn't be eating tonight. He hadn't finished his chores after all.

A ding sounded from his left and Harry grabbed a pot holder and slipped it on, pulling the rolls from out of the oven. Walking over to the table to place them on the glass plate in the center, Harry failed to see Dudley's foot jut out in front of him. He stumbled and jerked forward as his body was forced to halt in no time. His hand caught the edge of the wooden table and the rolls flew forward. Right into his uncle's lap.

Vernon jumped up as eight hot rolls fell on his thighs, searing him as they burned the skin. He snapped out a yell of surprise and slight pain, standing up to get the heat off of him. The rolls fell to the floor with quiet little thumbs. Harry faintly heard the sound of Dudley snickering behind his hand for his eyes were round in horror, watching his uncle.

The man spat and cursed, his face turning a deep shade of red and purple. His mustache twitched angrily as did his eyebrows and Harry suppressed a wince. He was a goner.

Vernon seized forward, his hands curling into fists around the front of Harry's clothes. Harry was yanked off his feet, hanging limply in the air. Vernon was yelling at him, he could see his mouth moving, and yet all Harry heard was a loud ringing in his ear and the sound of him apologizing over and over. Time seemed to have come to a stand still; frozen. Spit was splattering onto his cheeks and nose and his glasses fogged up from the release of angry puffs coming from his uncle. His body was shaken and thrown to the floor. His shoulder hit both the hard tiles and the table and he bit down on his tongue to repress a groan. Harry didn't think about what his uncle was doing to him. He didn't think about the pain. He didn't even think about what was being said. He just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

* * *

He layed in his cupboard two hours later, curled in a ball on the top of his mattress. His blanket lay forgotten at his feet. Harry shivered as the heat coursed through him, boiling his blood. He groaned into the mattress; it wouldn't be wise to be heard, especially so recently following a punishment. Vernon would label it as defiance. As laughter. He was laying on his stomach and knees, his shirt balled up beneath his face, trying desperately to keep his back from pressing up against anything. He really didn't want blood on his mattress. His body was covered in bruises. He couldn't move at all without feeling a twinge of pain. A deep ache was coming from his chest and Harry had his arms wrapped around his torso, hoping to either repress it or protect it. He wasn't really sure at this point. His head was screaming, feeling as if it were being ripped directly from the seems, and Harry pressed his face even more into the mattress. He shivered and hissed and bit his skin. He growled fiercely as he felt tears begin to line his eyes, forcing them to disappear as he refused to let them escape. He was not going to cry. No.

The heat was suffocating him. The temperature in his cupboard was at the highest he could remember, at least for now, and it was doing nothing to help the fever he was sure was beginning to break through. Harry clawed at his skin, at his arms, hoping to shed it away, to get the uncomfortable crawling away from him. He really didn't like it.

His night continued like this, with Harry turning about his bed, hissing in pain, in and out of consciousness as he tried and failed to sleep. However, just as it was rounding two thirty, Harry was able to claim sleep, this time for good (or at least three hours anyway). He snorted into his hand, a hand that had wrapped itself in his hair, tugging at the scruffy strands there. In that moment, Harry didn't worry about making breakfast in a few short hours or how he was going to hide the few bruises and cut on his face from view. He just simply slept, dreaming of chasing a girl with red hair through a forest. Because of this, Harry didn't see the soft glow that rose from his body, running along his skin, healing his worst injuries. He didn't see the bruises fade into a pale ivory, not fixing themselves but rather hiding in plain sight. Harry saw none of this.

But he did see green eyes, eyes just as bright and wide as his own, and that meant so much more to him. So much more.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The seventh year.**_

Harry patted the soil with a gentle smile gracing his face. It was summertime and Harry's Aunt Petunia had him working on the garden, hoping to have a repeat performance for the best yard and garden of the year. She was shooting big this year. Harry didn't mind this part of his chores; in fact, he loved gardening. He loved being able to contribute to life, to watch it grow and flourish and become something great, something more. It was amazing to him how much a single cup of water and a gentle caress of leaves could encourage a life, even if it was just a flower.

He wished it only took a cup of water, some soil, and a bit of sunlight to make him grow. Perhaps he'd be taller than, stronger.

Humming a soft tune to himself, Harry grabbed the watering pail and watered the new flower that he had just planted in the dirt. While unsure of what kind of flower it was, he thought it to be very pretty with its pink tinted delicate white petals. He tipped the pail up a little and watched with a sense of bemused happiness as thin streams ran forward, drenching the small little plant. The petals dipped and flattened themselves, curling and weaving, before straightening back up as he finished. Giggling silently, he set the water pail back down at his side on the grass and turned to the next plant.

And so it was like that for the next few hours with Harry watering the plants and raking the soil and pulling the weeds. He carefully tended to the small vegetable patch that housed the tomatoes his aunt would trade at a little market for some banana bread. He happily picked strawberries, knowing that he would be using them the next day to make a strawberry cheesecake and some jam. He felt a sense of warm calm settle upon him as he gazed about the backyard. His aunt may be the one to relish in the praise and compliments from the envious neighbors but it was Harry he smiled proudly, albeit in secret, knowing that it was he who brought such phrases onto the Dursley's.

As Harry began to pick up the gardening supplies, putting the gloves and watering pail and rake into the yellow bucket his aunt had supplied him with, he felt himself tense as the sound of his cousin's laughing broke through the once peaceful summer quiet.

"Did you see his face?" His cousin laughed as he walked down the sidewalk leisurely with his friends. "And when he cried? Ha!" Dudley and the three other boys with him all shook with laughter, the sound echoing all around them as they strolled.

"Twerp is such a baby. Ran home to mummy no doubt!" jeered Piers as he kicked at the dirt when they slowed down in their walking. Malcolm and Kevin guffawed as they pushed at each other, slipping and jostling around. Dudley smiled. It wasn't a very nice smile.

"Speaking of home . . . " Dudley trailed off as silence folded upon the group of boys. Harry risked a look back as he felt nervousness peak into his thoughts. Dudley and his friends stood at the gate to the fence surrounding the yard, their eyes on him, pushing and pulling at each other as they smirked at him.

Hushed tones reached his ears, though he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Swallowing, he pushed his slightly shaking hands towards the handle of the bucket, intent of putting it up and leaving as soon as possible. A quiet Dudley was never a good thing, at least not where he was concerned.

Suddenly, something heavy hit his back and he released a startled shriek as a bit of pain flashed through him. Looking widely around, the sound of boys laughing cracked through the air, exploding it into noise. Casting a glance downwards, Harry saw a rock the size of his palm a little bit away from him and picked it up, examining it. This was, no doubt, what had been thrown at him. By the way his cousin was chasing a rock with his fingers in his hand, he was sure it was he who threw it and that he was about to throw another, this one a bit larger. He fisted his hand around the rock and began to stand, the bucket in his other hand. Dudley threw the rock towards him, but it missed by about two feet. The boys groaned in disappointment and began to pick up more rocks, this time with the other boys joining in in all the fun. Little pebbles to baby boulders were lunged at him, some missing, others not so much, and he cringed at each one that many to strike him. When a particularly large rock struck his leg, he fell to the ground and wrapped his arms around his head to protect his face, dropping the bucket to the ground where its contents spilt over the green blades like loose change within a pocket. He crawled his way over to the shed, where he had been walking to in the first place, and hid on the side of it, away from Dudley and his gang. He could hear their laughter, their jeers, and he pinched his eyes shut and gripped the rock tightly, ignoring the tears that ran down his cheeks in slow paths. It was times like this that Harry wished he had parents, or at the very least someone who cared enough about him to protect him. He wanted someone to yell at Dudley and his large, loud friends, someone to scowl at them and shoo away. He wanted someone to wipe away his tears and hold his cheeks, whispering reassurances into his ear. He wanted someone to kiss his forehead and bandage up all the cuts that now marred his body from the rocks. He wanted someone to make it all better. Still with his eyes and teeth clenched, he vaguely heard Malcolm asking if they could go get ice cream from Pier's mom before they all shuffled away with excited yelps. Sighing in relief, Harry listened to them shuffle off and only when their voices were faint echoes in the background did he dare venture out from the side of the shed. After wiping his face, he leaned down, hissing a little in pain for it wasn't only Dudley's attack that left him with wounds, and retrieved the bucket, placing it on a shelf in the shed, locking the door shut behind him. It was only when he was making his way inside that he realized he was still holding onto the rock from earlier. Opening up his fist he gasped in shock for there on his palm lay an assortment of earthy dust and right in the center of it was the rock.

It was shaped exactly like a plastic soldier figurine.

Maybe he did have a protector after all.

* * *

 _Still the Seventh Year._

Harry sat beneath a tall oak tree, hiding in its shadows as he leaned against the trunk. He was hiding at the edge of a small forest, intent on escaping his cousin's wrath and his aunt's disgusted scowl. The day was a Friday, one set within the warm embrace of late June, and like all summer Friday's, his aunt had brought Dudley to the park to stretch his legs and enjoy the sunshine. His aunt looked particularly out of place in these settings, what with her sitting on one of the chipping green painted park benches, a thin blanket beneath her. She was staring at a child, covered in dirt and mulch, with a face so laden with disgust that it wasn't even possible to disguise. Yes, his aunt clearly loved the outdoor scene.

While Harry's Friday's were typically spent locked within his cupboard, this time was clearly different. The Dursley's had paid a man to come steam their carpets for a third time that month ("we must keep the house in top form Vernon!") and since it would be quite a problem if the man were to discover the tiny, messy haired boy, Harry had been dragged along with his aunt given a threat by his uncle and an order to stay out of the way.

So that is what Harry did. He stayed out of the way. It was something he was both good at and whole heartedly agreed with.

Running his fingers through the soft grass beneath him, Harry gave a relaxed sigh as he gingerly dipped his head back against the tree trunk. The sunlight shed upon the left side of his face, warming his face with a gentle palm of heat. There was no breeze in the air, something he could hear a few of the women complaining about, but Harry didn't mind. It wasn't that hot after all, just warm. Closing his eyes, Harry allowed a small smile to curl itself onto his lips. It was nice, he thought, to not have to be doing any chores right now or to be stuck in a stuffy little cupboard.

Opening his eyes, Harry turned his head and gazed back at the park. His cousin was sliding down the slides, kicking mulch up when he reached the bottom, making it fly at some nearby children, cackling the whole time. His laugh was a dull, rough one. It grated Harry's ears. When one of the smaller children was struck by a piece of the wood, she ran to her mother, tears pooling in her eyes and running down her cheeks in slow, smooth trails. Her white dress flew around her legs, wrapping around her. The girl's brown hair flew behind her in perfect waves as she wrapped her tiny arms around her mother's waist. The mother scooped the child up into her arms, staring down at the little face in concern as she brushed dark bangs back. Harry felt a pang in his chest as he watched them, as he watched all of them.

The park was naturally filled with children and their parents. Dads carried their sons on their shoulders, grinning broadly as they ran and clipped their tongues, acting like horses and just being plain silly. Mothers pushed their toddlers in the swings, laughing and giggling at seemingly random things and grabbing onto the tiny feet and making uncharacteristically childish noises. Girls skipped about, clinging to the bars on the merry go round as their brothers made it spin in dizzy circles. Children clutched at hands and yanked, tugging their significantly larger and taller parents around the park, not a hint of fear on their face, only impatient scowls and happy smiles and bright eyes. Birds flapped their tired wings in the air, singing soft trills. Tiny bugs flew about the open space, weaving their way about the busy area. Harry felt his smile drop as he watched them. Watched as the mother wiped her daughter's tears away and glared at Dudley, blaming him for hurting her precious daughter, her baby, her child, her treasure. Watched as dads scooped up giggling little boys and tickled them relentlessly, tossing them up into the air and catching them with a practiced ease. Watched as siblings clung to one another, teasing the other but praising all at the same time. It was beautiful to watch, he thought, how easy it was for these families to get lost in one another, to ignore the world around them as if it were nothing, for their eyes were only for each other. It made him ache in a way that caused his breath to hitch, his eyes stinging with suppressed emotions, and Harry vaguely recalled the red headed woman from his dreams. With a strangled, silent cry, he jerked his gaze away, staring back at his hands and watching as an ant made its way up his finger and across the back of his hand.

No one had ever looked at him the way those before him looked at one another.

In that moment, Harry Potter realized how much he despised his life.

* * *

 _Still the Seventh Year_

As little Harry Potter tucked himself into his cupboard, his body curling in on itself as he ignored the walls trapping him and the spiders around his feet, preparing for bed, his aunt and uncle were tucking in their own child.

Petunia Dursley, once Evans, ran a hand through her son's blonde hair, a bit of apprehension visible in her face as she gazed town at his sleeping form.

"What is it pet?" Her husband asked, walking up to her side and staring down at her in concern, his hand reaching out for her. Sighing, Petunia grabbed it and allowed herself to be lead away and into her own bed chambers.

Petunia supposed she was lucky. She had been a young, pretty girl, albeit not overwhelmingly so, when she had met Vernon. They had married shortly after, Vernon promising to never let her go, to always cherish her, and they had never looked back. She had a beautiful home, one that was the envy of many in the neighborhood. She had a loving husband who was faithful to her alone and doted on her, making sure that she was never for naught. She had an amazing son, one who would undoubtedly grow up to be a strong, powerful young man just like his father. She had much to be grateful for and she knew she shouldn't be feeling the dislike in her chest, residing in her heart and cooling her, for there had been a constant blemish on her perfect life and her perfect family.

Harry Potter.

The boy had been placed in their hands when he was barely over a year old, right

after the death of her sister and her husband James, the boy's parents. Petunia had read the letter the Dumbledore bloke had left, she knew it was a direct attack, one that had marked the end of a many decade war. She knew that those in her sister's crowd, those freaks, held the boy up as a savior, a hero. A god. She knew that they all thought him special and that they were all grateful to him but Petunia was not grateful for the boy, not grateful at all.

This boy symbolized everything the Dursley's hated. He was a freak, born with

magical blood given to him by his unnatural parents. His hair was dark and messy, something that stuck out like a sore thumb to the crowds the Dursley's often entertained for it lacked control and by extent the boy did as well. He had a strange scar on his forehead and while Petunia knew that was a symbol of greatness to the freaks it was one of disgust to her. It stood out completely on his face and was almost impossible to cover, something that was meant to be seen, meant to be noticed. There had been a message sent with this scar, one that reeked of an execution. But what Petunia hated most about the boy, what she hated more that his stubbornly held chin and elegantly graceful walk and unnaturalness and the easy beauty he possessed, was his eyes: his vibrant, bright, and strikingly green eyes. After all he had his mother's eyes, something he wouldn't be made aware of for almost ten more years. Whenever she caught those eyes staring at her in a blank gaze, she saw Lily: Lily accusing her with a blaming hate, one that spoke volumes. She saw Lily when those eyes would occasionally flash towards her, ridden in panic, when her husband came home, drunk and out of his mind, intent on punishing the boy. She saw Lily when he was dragged to the ground and kicked by her son, asking to be rescued. She saw Lily when he would gaze about empty and filled rooms alike, pleading to be noticed, to be acknowledged. But it wasn't just those times that Petunia saw Lily in those eyes. She saw it when a rare smile would cross his face and he would look down at whatever caught his interest with the most gentle expression on his face that it would have warmed her had she been anyone else. She saw it when he stopped in the middle of gardening and picked a flower up, bringing it close to his face so that he could breathe in its scent. She saw it when he petted the neighbors dogs and helped the small children her son pushed down back onto their feet. She saw it when she nodded, albeit reluctantly, when he did a new dish particularly well. She saw it when he received a present, even if it only had happened a time or two, when such childlike joy and gratitude would shine within those emerald orbs. Yes, Petunia Dursley saw Lily in her son many a times and she hated him for it.

Lily had been perfect, Petunia being forgotten in her shadow, and it seemed that natural perfection had been passed down onto her very own son but Petunia was not their parents and she wouldn't let Dudley fall in his shadow. No, Dudley was meant to shine. It was their turn.

"I want the boy gone, Vernon." She said as soon as they made it into their room and the door had been shut. Vernon, who still stood at the door, having just closed it, turned around in shock, his blue eyes wide. Glee could be seen in them but he attempted to repress it.

"Pet?" The man asked, almost hopefully (if hope was such a concept to them). Petunia sniffed, tilting her nose up in the air.

"The boy. I want him gone. He is too much like his parents, like her, like them. I won't stand for it. I will not have him destroy this family Vernon! Dudley deserves better than this!" She was yelling, she knew this. She also knew that she sounded quite hysterical, but for once in her life, she did not care. This was her family they were talking about, their son, their future.

She was not going to have it ruined.

"What shall we do then?" He asked quietly, sitting down at the edge of the bed, guiding her with him. He clutched her tiny hand in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to accept the comfort for what it was.

"Anything." She breathed. Petunia knew what she was saying, what was being asked, and she knew that, as a mother and as a human being, she should feel an inert amount of self disgust but she couldn't bring herself to, she just couldn't. She squeezed her eyes tighter, thinking of the times the boy had shone so brightly it hurt. She thought of the time when he had first arrived her and had made one of Dudley's teddy bears come to him, almost effortlessly, as if it were nothing. She thought of the time he had come home, crying because Dudley had pulled his hair and dragged him about on the ground for a minute (She had seen it from the kitchen window), and she had cut it all off, saying it couldn't happen that way then, only for the boy to cry harder and for it to grow back overnight, longer and messier than before. She thought of the time Vernon had slapped him quite hard across the face, allowing a giant bruise to form, only for it to heal within the next hour, gone from sight completely. She thought of the time the school had called, claiming him to be on the school's roof and when asked, the boy had just stated that he had just appeared there, that it just happened. She thought of how he always brought home high scores, perfect grades, and that no matter how many times they punished him for cheating and deliberately showing up Dudley, he continued to do so. She thought of how people in town would compliment her for having such a cute little boy because my aren't those just the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen and my look at those cheeks! She thought of all of this and grind her teeth together. Yes, she was doing the right thing.

"What about those freaks, dear? The ones that left the letter? You know what they said. Surely they'd find out the boy was missing and confront us about it. We can't just kill him. Their kind would easily be able to collect the evidence. Leaving him somewhere would only result in them finding him and returning him, or at least causing us trouble."

A sense of dread filled her. Vernon was right. The freaks, what with their unnaturalness, would easily be able to locate the boy. The surrounding area would be combed through with a fine comb. Orphanages would be too obvious, as would hospitals. They'd be able to track him within a matter of days, if not hours.

Suddenly an idea came to her. "Vernon," she spoke softly, slowly, immediately catching her husband's attention.

"What if . . . what if we felt him somewhere? Somewhere no one would think to look?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, not catching on.

"To those . . . monsters he is their hero. He is a saint. He is particularly one in Britain though. If we got rid of him, they would be searching in Britain, Vernon. Only Britain. Why would we take him anywhere else?"

Vernon stared at her for a moment before comprehension dawned on him. Honestly, it's not like she was being too subtle.

"You're saying we should go elsewhere. Another country." He spoke this achingly slow, as if he couldn't believe it. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at her. Petunia twisted in her spot and grabbed both his hands with hers. She stared at him, desperate.

"Think about it Vernon. We could go away for a summer trip, take some vacation time. No one would think of it. We'd tell Mrs. Figg that we were going to visit Marge and the boy was to come with and we'd go to France, not telling anyone so that no one could tell them the truth. We'd go to France, trick the boy into thinking that we are actually bringing him along out of the goodness of our hearts, which we really are doing anyway, and leave him there within the first few days, before continuing on with our trip separately. We could finally get rid of him Vernon and have the family we were meant to have all along: our family. Our normal, prefect family."

He stared at her, his eyes drilling deep into her face, watching her. Petunia breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling as she stared back, not willing to back down. They stayed like that for roughly three minutes before he nodded.

"This could work, Pet . . . this could actually work . . ."

And so for the next few hours Petunia and Vernon Dursley planned out exactly how they were going to get rid of their nephew and how exactly they were going to get away with it. A floor level below, sleeping in his cupboard, sat a tiny seven year old boy none the wiser.

Oh how great it was to be them.

 **A/N: I do not particularly like this chapter, it is rather short, but here it is.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

 _The Seventh Year Continued._

For the first time in his life (or at least for the first time he could remember anyway) Harry Potter was happy. It had started a week ago, only a few days after his aunt had taken him to the park with them. For a reason Harry couldn't even begin to fathom, the Dursley's had started being nice to him. When he had woken up on Monday morning, right at 6:00 to make breakfast, his aunt had waved him away with a smile, saying it was her turn and to go back to sleep. Godsmacked, Harry had returned to his cupboard. A little over an hour later his aunt had woken him up from a very light slumber and lead him to the kitchen table where she had him sit, right in front of a plate full of food. He had never sat at the table before.

When his uncle had arrived, Harry had hastily stood, fear pooling in his stomach, only for the man to chuckle and ruffle his hair, pushing him back into the empty, wooden chair with a gentle hand on his shoulder. They had sat in silence, eating their breakfast and Vernon also reading the newspaper, with Harry gingerly cutting up his egg, staring around in his awkwardness. He did however spin around quite quickly when a gasp broke through the silence. Behind him stood Dudley, his jaw dropped in shock. The boy quickly recovered though and scowled, jabbing a finger through the air, pointing at Harry.

"Why's the freak sitting at the table?!" Harry flinched and looked down at his hands, waiting to be reprimanded now that a witness was around for the Dursley's odd behavior.

However, he was surprised when instead of getting yelled at like normal, _Dudley_ was. "Dudley!" His aunt shrieked, staring at her son in disappointment as she placed her hands on her hips. "Don't call your cousin a freak. Now sit down and eat your breakfast."

Dudley, and Harry for that matter, stared at the women in shock. "M-mum?"

"Now Dudley!"

And so Dudley sat. For the rest of the day the Dursley's treated him like a member of the family. They didn't make him do any chores, instead telling him to go play outside or giving him stuff to draw with. There were no harsh threats or snarled names, only soft smiles and affectionate pats on the shoulder. He was given three meals and even snacks, and not small, disgusting ones either! They had all talked civilly to him (or in Dudley's case not at all) and treated him as if he were an actual human being and the thought that he -Harry- was finally getting the Dursley's to like him made the boy smile as he went to bed later that first night.

That smiled dropped though when he woke up the next day, realizing that it was either a dream or was about to be crushed. The Dursley's were never nice to people like him, to freaks. They were surely going to change their tune and soon.

He just hoped that his little heart wasn't shattered in the process.

But Harry turned out to be wrong for the day after was just like the first, filled with smiles and food and mindless forms of entertainment, and it continued to be like so for the following five days as well. Why even Dudley had turned around on the third day, having invited the small boy over to play with his figurines. So here he sat, tying the laces of his shoes in the darkness of his cupboard, on the seventh day -a week filled with the oddly kind Dursley's-wondering if it was all real.

The Dursley's had hated him for all his life after all. They had sneered and scorned him, always calling him ungrateful and dirty. A disgrace to humanity. They snubbed him, claiming him to be a bastard of a child and a freak, one that was just like his useless parents. Not once had he felt the arms of another wrap around his tiny frame, most definitely not from any of his relatives for sure. Never was he given a gift or a good morning or a story read before bed. They had shoved him into a cupboard the second he had arrived here, that he was positive of even if he couldn't remember, hiding him away from the world. He was the Dursley's deepest, most concealed secret. They wanted no one to know that he existed, that there was another child, another person, at Number Four Privet Drive. They never spoke his name in front of another, never hung up any pictures of him, never let him be seen with them by anyone. Even when Harry had been forced to attend the closest public school had they pretended he wasn't theirs. Dudley had picked on him on the notion that he was just "another one of the weirdos". His uncle had never picked him up in the car when he arrived for Dudley, hissing at him to walk home and make sure to not be followed. Aunt Petunia never came to the parent meetings or signed his permission slip forms for school outings. As far as they were concerned, he was someone else's problem. He was only theirs when in the confines of the house, their small, sealed, safe house, where they could shove him aside and pretend he didn't exist or use him when most convenient.

So no Harry was not convinced that the Dursley's suddenly liked him.

And yet there was that small hope, burning in his chest and stirring in time with his heart, that this was all real and that the smiles and laughs and touches would all last . . . .

* * *

Vernon Dursley really hated his life sometimes.

There were days, days like today, that he found himself wanting more. Days where he felt unsatisfied by the dull ache of his heart, beating furiously in his overly large body. Days where he just wanted to quit his job instead of dealing with a bunch of weak minded idiots for a reasonable salary. Days where he wanted nothing more than to kiss the pink, fragile lips of a younger, prettier girl. Days where he would look back and wonder where it all went wrong.

Today, he was thinking about his nephew, a boy he wouldn't ever refer to as such. The brat had been left on their doorstep nearly six years ago and Vernon found himself wanting to be rid of him now just as much as he had then. But like then, he listened to his wife instead and allowed her to do what she wanted in regards to the child.

It had been Petunia who first questioned if they should place the boy in an orphanage. He had, of course, stated that it was the most logical choice. The child was a magic wielder after all, one who had apparently been the cause of his parents death's if the letter was to be taken as true. He was unnatural and, more importantly, not theirs to take care of. But Petunia, though reluctantly, had shaken her head a short time later, claiming that it was her sister's son and while she may not have gotten along well with the women, she still felt as if she owed it to her to at least try, or at least for the child's sake anyhow. With a frown, Vernon had relented.

They had placed him in the second bedroom at first. At the time there was no need for a guest's room, seeing as how Marge was travelling for an extended amount of time and no one else usually stayed in there. They had placed him in Dudley's spare play pen, rising the thin pad up so it could be used as a bed. He had not been given any toys for they expected him to stay quiet and away. He would catch on eventually. He had been allowed to keep the blanket he had arrived in and some old clothes of Dudley's, ones their fast growing child had already outgrown. Petunia cared for the boy whenever she wasn't busy, never more than that. Things had been running smoothly at first, despite the constant cries for attention and stress of another child to feed and care for.

That had been before the freak had done anything unnatural though. The letter warned them of the possibility, of how it was bound to happen, but they had hoped it was all a fluke, that by some chance the boy would be normal.

He wasn't though. He never had been.

Vernon had been sitting on the couch at the time. His son had been at his feet, playing with a circular tower of some sorts, though most of the donut shaped pieces had ended up in the tyke's tiny, almost toothless mouth. A bear had laid forgotten by the boy's leg. Harry had been sitting in the corner, away from them all, staring at it with wide, green eyes.

"Bear." He had said and it had been said simply. There was no hint of emotion in the voice. No wonder at the toy or anger or need for it. There was no desperation or sadness for it or that it was so far away. It had been a statement of fact, an observation maybe. Vernon had ignored it.

"Bear." He had said again, eyes still locked on the limp stuffed animal. Vernon frowned.

"No." He folded the morning paper over in his lap to stare at the annoying child that seemed intent on speaking.

And that had been the end of it, for the toy was Dudley's not Harry's and there was no way his son was going to be forced to share, not on his watch.

Or he had thought it was over anyway for within a matter of minutes, the bear had zoomed across the carpet and into Harry's waiting hands, a smile of glee playing on the child's elegant features.

Vernon had seen red.

That had been the first time he had slapped the messy haired kid.

The freakishness had continued after that, getting worse and worse over time just like Vernon's punishments. The boy had regrown his hair countless times, even changing his hair to blonde once. He had shrunk an apple and made it invisible in his pocket, Vernon only had caught it because he had seen the boy slip it in there in the first place, knowing that magic was involved. He had made a drawing of a lion roar and prance around a page instead of lying flat and motionless. He had caused a plate to shatter into countless pieces in a fit of rage and his cousin's arm to snap during a scuffle. He had even been able to heal his own wounds, bruises disappearing in seconds directly in front of him and bones to mend within the dark hours of sleep.

And Vernon, who had promised his family to always protect them, to always have a perfectly normal life void of any unnecessary strangeness, had attempted to put a stop to it.

He had wanted to see the extent of the boy's power, had wanted to see just how far the boy would go before stopping it. They had starved him and locked him in his room but when that got them nowhere but open displays of magic, he had gotten more hands on with the approach. He had started with slaps to the face but all marks left before night came. Punches to the side and arms came next but those bruises too disappeared. The kicks and harsher hits shortly followed, bones being snapped in the process only to be mended within a matter of days and eventually hours. It had then come to licks with a belt and scars had formed on the boy's back, welts rising and cuts splattering open, and finally Vernon had found what had worked for he realized that while individually they all healed nicely in a short amount of time, grouped together all in one go had the boy in pain for quite some time. And so he made sure to do as much damage as possible to the boy without simply killing him off and the message eventually sunk in that if magic or any kind of disobedience was made known, he was to be disciplined. Before long, the strange acts came to a halt and no longer did Vernon see the wounds heal themselves so effortlessly.

But what Vernon didn't seem to know was that those wounds had never really healed like that anyway, they had simply disappeared. They had been hidden, an illusion into the boy's appearance.

How he hated the freak.

* * *

"You want me to . . . come with you?" He asked again, just needing the clarification.

Harry sat at the edge of the couch in the Dursley's sitting room, his little feet dangling over the ground, not quite being able to touch it. He was staring, with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion and a frown playing on his lips, at his aunt and uncle who were standing

"Why of course. You are family after all and last I checked this is a family vacation." Petunia laughed, clasping Vernon's hands with hers as she eyed him kindly, waiting for his questions.

He continued to frown. Opening his mouth, Harry quickly closed it. He didn't know what to say.

Thankfully -or maybe not so depending upon who you asked- Dudley had no such qualms.

"But we've never let him come before! He isn't suppose to!" The boy whined loudly, staring at his parents as if they had lost their minds. Truthfully, Harry couldn't blame him. He had been thinking the same thing since this whole situation began.

"He's right. It's never mattered before. Why can't I stay with Miss Figg?" Harry dipped his head to the side slightly, frowning at his own words. Why was he questioning their kindness? They were inviting him to France! What was wrong with him?!

Oblivious to her nephew's inner turmoil, Petunia just smiled at him, her lips somewhat thinned. "We were wrong to leave you Harry, to treat you as we have been. We are just . . . trying to make it up to you. To move on from it." She said slowly and Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain himself from asking if moving on meant pretending it never happened. He also refrained himself from pointing out that they never actually apologized to him. Honestly, did they think him to be ignorant?

And yet, he wanted so desperately to be with them, as a family member . . . .

Before his mind even registered what he was doing, he was already nodding.

* * *

"I'm afraid we didn't buy you any tickets when we organized the trip, Harry," Aunt Petunia said as she kept the door to the hotel room open, allowing the boys to slip in with the bags in their arms.

"It's alright. I understand." He said with a smile. It was true. He did understand. He was just a last minute addition after all. He shifted the heavy bag around in his hand. His fingers were really starting to hurt from the added weight.

"We can try to buy more once we get there but . . . " Harry turned his eyes away from his aunt to look at his uncle and though he concealed it fairly well, Harry could tell the man was uncomfortable with Petunia's words, with her offer. He bit back a sigh and cast his eyes to the floor.

"No. I can stay here. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you." And he didn't. He really didn't. HArry was lucky enough to even be here. The trip alone was enough for him.

His aunt must have seen the look on Vernon's face as well for she didn't argue, merely biting the edge of her lip instead, chewing it raw. "If you're sure . . . "

"I am." He interrupted her gently and that was that. For the rest of the night, the Dursley's and Harry unpacked their bags and straightened up the shared hotel room. For dinner they ate at a quaint little cafe on the corner and when it was time for bed, Vernon and Petunia climbed into their bed, Dudley into his, and Harry into his (Vernon having had called for a rollaway bed only an hour ago). It wasn't an exciting day but it was new. That night, looking through the thin curtains at the stars, Harry smiled, convinced that maybe, just maybe, things were changing.

Over the course of the next week, Harry remained in the hotel room, looking down at the streets of Paris and flipping through pages of a book his aunt had loaned him while the Dursley family scoped out the beautiful country, going to all the cliche tourist attractions that they could, snapping pictures the whole time. They all contentedly ate meals together, none of them saying much but none of them needing to either. On the second to last day, however, instead of slipping through the door on another adventure like the previous days, the Dursley's stopped before him.

"Come along, Harry. We're going to visit the shops today. You can come if you want." Petunia said kindly, fiddling with something in her purse. He didn't need to be told twice and immediately closed his book. "Grab your backpack though, don't forget your things, were leaving early tonight. Vernon has to be at the office." He didn't protest, slinging the thin straps over his shoulders, nor did he say anything when she handed him a file of papers, telling him to put them in his bag. He didn't say a thing, even when he knew their bags remained untouched by the desk, as if they weren't leaving.

Harry followed the Dursley's around all day, slipping into little shops and enjoying rich meals, listening to the french roll elegantly off of the citizens tongues with practiced ease, looking at all the potted plants and feeling the slightly cool air on his skin. France really was beautiful and he wished he could stay forever. Wished that he could experience every bit of it, not just from his hotel window either.

Around the fifteenth hour, Petunia guided Harry into a store that had fruits and vegetables and some fresh baguettes. Vernon and Dudley had gone a little down the street, saying they were looking at some new flashy toy.

"Alright Harry, take this," she handed over some money and a basket "and go grab a little bit of everything. Start in the back over there, I'll be up front. Meet in the middle?" Harry nodded, not bothering asking her why they would buy fresh produce before leaving, and walked to the corner of the store, walking and weaving through the various rows of crates. He neatly piled two of everything in his basket, skipping over the things that he knew they'd never eat, humming softly to himself. _London bridge is falling down . . ._. However, he didn't meet his aunt in the middle of the store, he didn't even see her. Thinking she was just being slow and had found something she liked, he shrugged and continued on his way. He'd bump into her any minute now . . . .

Only Harry didn't. He made his way through every bit of fruit, all the vegetables, and pass the breads and nothing. Petunia wasn't even in the store. Setting the basket down by something yellow and fruity, he walked outdoors, feeling a bit of panic pooling in his gut. He turned his head, looking all over for his aunt, for his uncle, for anybody, but he saw none of the Durs- there!

Nearing a crossing, he made out the pale blonde hair of his aunt, Vernon and Dudley by her side. He watched with wide eyes as they laughed, Vernon leaning forward and ruffling his son's hair. Dudley chatted amiably, showing off the new toy that Vernon must have bought. Petunia pecked her husband's cheek. She must have noticed him, or maybe she just felt the need to turn back and look, for her head twisted and their eyes met. Bright green clashed with pale, muggy blue. She raised her head, defiance and a bit of dark glee in her gaze, before flashing him a smirk and turning back around.

They did not stop and come back for him.

He didn't even try to follow.

 **A/N: Okay so I hate this chapter. Not even going to lie. That's why it took forever to post actually but oh well. It's a filler anyway. Time jump next chapter. Please review. I want to see if anyone actually wants to read this. Thanks.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _ **The tenth year.**_

He wove his way through the masses, dodging past the bodies of the people around him. He moved quietly, his feet barely even touching the ground, and gracefully, as if he were merely dancing about with the air. He was one with his surroundings. Always there, always adapting, never breaking. Like water, he flowed with a simple manner. Air and water. His favorite's of the elements. It was fitting, he thought.

A little girl with long, dark brown hair ran past him, almost running into him (if he hadn't moved that is) in her haste to grab the hand of a woman ahead of him. An elderly woman with a kind face full of smile lines peered down at the girl. "Grandmere c'est -"

He didn't care what the child was saying, not that he could hear it well anyway, and just watched their faces. Just watched as the girl's face was split with a large grin full of teeth as she talked excitedly about something she had probably found. Just watched as the breeze brushed at the loose curls surrounding her head, refusing to stay flat and in the braid. Just watched as her grandmother looked down at her fondly, a shy smile playing on her lips as she listened to her granddaughter's words. Just watched as her eyes locked with the child, taking her seriously, enraptured with her. Just watched as the pair talked and pulled as if it were normal, as if they truly were happy and carefree, as if they were savoring the moment, basking in their innocent love for each other. He just watched as the little family breathed and blinked and moved about their day like they no doubt did every day.

He waited for the ache to come. For his stomach to twist and his mouth to dry as the realization set in.

It didn't come.

* * *

He has lived here for nearly three years now and it's all the same still. He stills feels empty, numb inside. He doesn't know how long it'll take for reality to switch on, to override his senses and bring it all back, but for now he is content with sitting here, on the wet stone next to a dumpster.

The day the Dursley's left him here was a clear memory of his and he wasn't very fond of it. He had wandered the streets for what had felt like hours, searching and looking, thinking about what he was going to do. He hadn't known then. He still didn't at times.

A security officer found him around dusk. He thinks it was dusk anyway. Who knows really. The man had brought him to an orphanage. It had been strange, trying to tell them his story when no one knew English and he french. Luckily enough, one of the matron's was from the United States. She was a temporary head, only there for some experience for her university or something. He hadn't asked then. He hadn't cared much about anything during that time.

Not that he grew out of that anyway.

She taught him how to speak french, how to write it. He learned their customs and ways. Slowly but surely, Harry was integrated into their society, into their lifestyle. He no longer spoke English, though he still knew how, no longer acted the same. He wasn't a timid, horribly shy boy that waited for heroes anymore. He didn't believe in heroes now. One only had themselves to rely on. Paris had taught him that in a month.

Harry Potter was dead.

The moment the officer had brought him to the matron's, to the orphanage - _St. Joseph_ his mind supplied - he had lost his old identity. He was someone else here. Someone new and holy. Untainted. Clean.

When asked, he had given them a new name, not Harry James Potter. He didn't want to be Harry anymore. No one wanted Harry. Harry was the freak, the burden, the disgrace. Harry was the boy in the cupboard who cried when he was three and bit his lip at five. Harry was the victim and he didn't want to be a victim.

 _Je mappelle L-Louis. Louis Thompson._

Louis was a strong boy. A silent boy who never cried and never talked. The only one who had heard him talk was Juliet, the matron from America, and she was gone now. They didn't know the sound of his voice. He didn't want them to. Louis didn't like talking.

It wasn't just his name that changed that day either though for that night, looking into the dingy, dirty bathroom mirror, Harry -Louis now- hated what he saw. There were his eyes, his green eyes. Eyes that his Aunt had smirked at. Eyes that his Aunt hated. Eyes that mirrored his mother's. Eyes of a women that had left him. He didn't want his mother's eyes. So he made them blue, a soft, greying blue. But then there was his hair. It was black and messy. Hair that his aunt would cut viciously and sneer at. Hair that Vernon would grab to slam his head into things. Hair that was just like his father's. Hair of a man that had killed them all. He didn't want to have his father's hair either. So he made it a soft blonde that fell into his eyes flat. But then he looked at the rest of his face. At the soft, pink lips that his uncle had kissed that one time when he was six before shoving him away. At the high cheekbones that were so often covered in bruises and littered with tiny cuts. At his pale skin that wasn't quite healthy, splotched up and yet still remarkably enchanting. So he made his lips a bit darker and his face a bit softer and his skin a bit more tan until he was a new boy. A boy that no one else had known or seen before and yet this boy had felt real to him in a way Harry Potter never had.

 _Look dad I'm a real boy!_

Harry Potter may have been someone before but he wasn't now.

He was Louis now and Louis was a trouble maker. Not in the way that children often were, being loud and disturbing, pulling hair and throwing punches. No, Louis wasn't that kind of trouble maker.

Louis liked to steal.

Being able to change one's appearance helped do it too.

He did't steal anything important. Only food. The orphanage didn't have a lot of money, running off of donations and money from the government that just didn't cover enough for twenty growing boys of all ages. They had thin clothes full of tears and stains. Winters were harsh. Unbearable even. There were no toys, save some stuff animals missing limbs. They were books though, most without covers or all their pages but books nonetheless. Food was scarce. There wasn't enough to feed them all. The younger children got more; they needed it more. He hated how he resented them for that. And so Louis stole, grabbing fruits and the occasional loaf of bread or collection of leaves, and bringing it back, sharing it among the other boys. He had seen the matron's watching their exchange, had seen the way their eyes lingered before drifting away, ignoring it. They knew he stole. They just didn't care. The children had to eat after all and where they lived, in the poorest part of Paris, you took what you could.

He hated the orphanage. The lack of funds wasn't the only thing he hated but he didn't want to think on it, couldn't really. Not with the ache in his stomach. It had been five days now.

He picked himself up off the ground and pushed his bangs out of his eyes. Looking around he saw the fruit stand he had picked for the day and considered if he was actually going to do it today. He didn't really want to. Yes, he was hungry, but all he wanted in that moment was to lay down and forget, to just disappear.

Yes he would do it.

He walked forward, mixing himself in with the crowd, edging his way to the outer thick of people, closer to the stands. He made sure to be behind a larger lady who had a big purse and just as they passed a cart full of apples, he snaked his hand out and quickly grabbing one, stashing it into the giant pockets of his sweatshirt. No one would notice, no one was paying attention. Certainly not the owner's that's for sure. He continued on his way, watching as the shops turned into trees only for them to fade away altogether into fields off grass. Eventually the grass got shorter and shorter until it was just patches like little tuffs of hair on an otherwise bald head. Mud and pebbles poked out, scrubbing his shoes dirty, and he continued on, no longer on a side walk just a road that needed to be paved. Not that anyone used it really. Hardly anyone drove, especially out here, but it was the thought that counted. He walked past little houses that were just shacks, watched as couples huddled together with their neighbors and ate, watched as children mingled and played. He continued on.

By the time he reached the orphanage he was beginning to sweat. It was a cool summer, cool enough to have a jacket and receive no weird looks, but the long trek back was a workout, especially on his worn down body. Not that he really noticed.

He slipped through the front gates, closing them behind him. The plank of wood dug into the mud, slowing him and it down. He followed the little rock path, barely glancing at the front yard that was just more mud, bald save tuffs of grass here and there, and climbed the few steps onto the porch before going inside. He strode upstairs, ignoring the little boy sitting on the couch and the older one on the floor. Walking to room eighteen, the room he knew the others to be in, he threw the apple inside and heard the sound of surprised gasps and a thud as it hit the floor. Untouched. Unwanted. For now anyway. The savage beasts would get to it eventually.

Just like the rest of them.

He went to his room, not caring about his hunger pangs anymore, and collapsed onto the bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and laid on his side, facing the off-white walls. This was his life now, he told himself. _Three years, Louis. Three years. You should be used to it now. It's better than it was._ His mind whispered to him. But was it? Better that is? Yes the Dursley's had been crazy and quick to act, full of violent tempers and short fuses, and yes he hadn't eaten much there either but at least there he had felt something. Anything.

Louis Thompson may have felt more real to him but Harry Potter had felt alive.

* * *

They came in the night, just like they always did, dragging him from his bed and onto the floor. Their shoes digging into his side, kicking at his ribs, destroying him. Punches landed on his face, bruising it and making it bloody. He'd have to wash later. Sigh.

They hissed words at him, cursing and blaming him, but he ignored them. He knew what they were talking about, what they were saying. It didn't matter though, he told himself, they didn't matter.

It was funny how the boys could never hurt him during the day, could only laugh and smile at him, and yet at night they hated him, only wanting to tear him apart and reveal what he was. He didn't blame them though. They had a right to be angry. The Dursley's did too.

It didn't make him hate them any less though.

* * *

" _Harry . . . " she whispered, leaning forward and kissing his forehead._

" _Harry . . . ."_

 _He didn't know this woman. He couldn't see her face or even her body. She was cloaked in white cloth, baggy and loose. The only thing he saw around him from his place on the bed was her red lips and red hair. The rest was dark. It was too dark._

 _Eaten by shadows, his mind whispered, eaten . . . ._

" _Harry," she whispered again, once more kissing him only now on his cheeks. "I love you, Harry. I love you."_

 _And he believed her. She did love him. He could feel it. Could feel the truth of her words washing over him, cleansing his skin, scratching away the dirt and grime, making him whole again._

" _I love you, Harry," she whispered, the read hair falling loose even more. It was a very dark shade of read, he noted, very very dark . . ._

" _I love you . . . ." She was crying now. He could hear it in her voice, could feel it in the tears that dropped onto their joined hands. She kissed his cheeks again. "I love you, Harry."_

 _He couldn't say it back._

 _He wanted to, god how he wanted to, but he couldn't._

 _He didn't feel love._

 _He didn't feel anything at all._

 **A/N: I actually didn't plan on using any of this, like at all, but it came out and fits with the story so I figured I'd post it for you guys and well it works pretty well being this short (sorry about that though). Hopefully I will post the next chapter tomorrow. Who knows. I have four classes tomorrow though so no promises. I also didn't edit this chapter so sorry. I'm tired.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _The tenth year continued._

He slipped through the almost closed door, watching as the sleeping boy's chest rose and fell in steady thumps. The room was dark, having no light to truly see with, but his eyes had adjusted enough for him to make his way forward, avoiding the objects on the floor as he went. Stepping over a pair of shoes, the floor creaked slightly under the weight of his foot and he cringed, hoping the boy wouldn't wake.

His name was Sebastian LeMar and he was one of the boys that would often beat Louis up. Louis hated the curly haired menace. They had been rivals practically since Louis's first day here. Sebastian had found it quite amusing that while he was an orphan with no family, Harry was an orphan with a family that didn't want him. It hurt to know that you technically didn't have to be there, that you weren't supposed to be there.

And so Louis hated him.

He had been extremely small when he first came. Shorter than all the other boys, thinner too. He was weak and fragile. A perfect target. Sebastian and his friends, so similar to Dudley and his gang (just thinner), had capitalized on it and followed him around. They shoved him into walls as they passed in the halls, kicked his shins when he was outside, punched him in the gut to take his food at dinner; they were mere bullies who acted for the sole sake that they could and while he knew he should do something, he was powerless at the time. It is not like he could fight them and win.

For months they antagonized him and by then he was fed up with it. It was winter the first time he came, a harsh winter. He was tired of them stealing his coat and shoving him into the snow. Tired of them taking what little bit of rations he had, forcing his already too thin body to make up body heat that it just didn't have. He was tired of it all and it was time they paid.

He had gone into Jimmy's room first. Jimmy was a boy of twelve at the time and had shockingly red hair. He loved to push him, shoving him into objects and onto the ground. Louis had been given a many of bruises by the boy and he had shoved him one time too many that day. His glasses had broke. So, when he arrived in his room, surrounded by the bleak shadows if the night, he didn't feel any mercy for what he was about to do. There would be no guilt. This boy had tormented him. He deserved it.

Jimmy had asthma you see and the way Louis saw it, this boy had taken something that Louis needed, something that was precious, and so he reached into the top drawer on Jimmy's desk and pulled out his inhaler. He wrapped his tiny, thin fingers around the piece of plastic and with a bit of a push, he watched as thin flames rose up, wrapping around it, burning it. The fire didn't burn his skin, no it was oddly comforting, and so he held it there as the flames, too dim to cause Jimmy any disturbance, engulfed it's prey, feeding and chewing. Destroying.

He left when it was over, wiping the little ashes off of his hands and onto Jimmy's floor, not caring.

The results weren't immediate of course. Jimmy was twelve and hadn't had an asthma attack in years after all. But he did have one that March.

It was rather unexpected.

Louis had watched with carefully concealed glee as the boy struggled to find his little friend, watched as his eyes widened in panic at not finding it, watched as he felt faint onto the unforgiving hardwood tiles of his room, watched as the Matron came upstairs, alerted by little Tim, watched as she too panicked, and watched as they had to call an ambulance.

He watched as Jimmy came back days later, trudging up the stairs in silence, mortified in his embarrassment and fear, and just before the boy shut his door his eyes had locked with Louis's and he smiled. Jimmy flinched.

They couldn't prove it was Louis. Where was the evidence? The boy didn't have an inhaler stashed away in his room, they had checked, but that didn't stop them from blaming him, from watching and observing.

Jimmy never broke anything of his again.

But that didn't stop others. Some sought revenge for their friends, others just didn't believe the warnings, but regardless of the reason there was always someone who messed with him, someone who was foolish enough to think they could win.

And so he was on another quest of vengeance, of teaching the insolent children of this fine establishment their place. You see, Sebastian was one of the biggest children there, full of bone and muscle and fat, all due from stealing other's meals, and well . . . Harry was tired of that too.

He didn't mind going a few days without meals. The Dursley's had made sure his body was used to it, could handle it, and so when he arrived at the orphanage it wasn't all that hard to adjust to it here as well. But when a week went by with nothing to eat, he crossed the line. All he wanted was a slice of bread and this fat loaf of an idiot wasn't going to stop him again.

He approached the boy's bed, kneeling down beside his head. He observed the way the moonlight cast a heavenly glow onto the boy's pale, blonde hair. It was strange. Not many people in France had blonde hair. Most had darker hair. It was because of this that the boy prided himself on his silver locks. He loved his hair, it was the only thing he regularly washed. It was soft and smooth and healthy. The healthiest part of his whole person for sure.

Louis wanted it.

This boy loved his hair, loved the way it looked and felt, loved the way everyone admired it. He loved running his hands through it and letting pretty girls compliment it. Well, Louis had loved eating on a weekly basis.

See where this is going?

He bent his head down and pulled a pair of scissors out of his pocket. The silver blades glinted in the light, casting little beams of light off of them. He prided their way open and silently lifted them up too the boy's face. Placing a long section of hair between the two, he closed them down and watched in fascination as the hair fell onto the pillow in thick clumpy rings. He continued clipping, not caring for a pattern or evenness. What should he care if the boy would look presentable? He continued well into the next hour, spending roughly twenty minutes on his silent task, before getting up and leaving. He would teach all these brats not to mess with him. Now he had to deal with Huston . . . that boy had almost broke his ribs, he was sure of it . . . .

A week later, Louis found himself outside by the woods. It was a cool day, autumn starting to break its way through into their lives. Walking among the trees, he ran his hands over the rough bark, delighted in the contrast between his smooth palm and its rough edges and curves. Leaves, some already have fallen, littered the forest floor and his bare feet brushed against them. Some leaves were smooth and soft, other dry and rough. Some were even fuzzy and tickled his bare soles. He stubbed his toes on rocks and felt along their bases, curving around the sharp dips and gentle faces. Sticks stabbed his skin but he barely noticed, only flinching when he stepped down too hard and they snapped beneath him, poking him. Logically he knew he should put on his shoes but he hated them. He didn't like wearing shoes, they were like a thin film, a boundary, that cut him off from the rest of the world. He wanted to experience it all, all of nature's glory, and if that went some dirt and a few cuts then so be it.

Too busy with his observations and slow thoughts, he didn't notice a small thin snake until it was almost too late.

" _Watch it human!"_

Startled out of his musings, Louis jumped back and looked around, his head snapping from one side to the next at too-fast speeds. He peered through the trees, searching for someone, but saw nothing. " _W-Who said that?"_

There was a pause in which nothing but the wind was heard. Louis's blue eyes continued to search around him but still, he came up empty.

" _Down here, young hatchling."_ The same voice from seconds ago spoke only now it wasn't irritated and angry. Now it was curious and patient. Confused, he cast his eyes downward and almost jumped back in shock when he noted the dark brown snake that rested near his feet, blending in with some mud and brown leaves.

"You can talk?" He asked the snake him- his eyes wider than usual. This was not normal, his mind kept saying. Snakes are not supposed to talk.

The snake released a hiss that Louis imagined to be a huff of annoyance. Great he was pissing it off again. "Of course I can talk. Every living creature talks."  
Louis felt his face heat up a little. Right, Of course they did. Stupid question. "I'm sorry it's just . . . I've never heard of a snake speaking english."

The snake reared it's head back and hissed again. "English?" it spat, obviously offended. "I do not speak that jumbled up mess of words you call a language! No, hatchling, it is you who is speaking my tongue, not the other way around."

Louis felt his eyes widen again. He wasn't speaking english? Was the snake speaking french then? He had a bad habit of going in and out of the two. "T-Then what are we speaking?"

The snake hummed. "Parseltongue. It is the language of the snake kin. That makes you a parselmouth, child."

Louis ducked his head and stared at the creature before crouching down and sitting next to it on the ground. The snake stretched and wrapped itself against his thigh, giving a pleased hiss that was no doubt due to the warmth he was excluding. It was rather cold out and he wondered what a snake like this was doing here of all places but he didn't ask. No he was too busy trying to figure out how he had learned to speak parseltongue without any teachers.

"Um Mr. um . . . sorry but what's your name?" He questioned the snake, trying to keep himself still as the creature butted it's head against him. Judging by the slitted pupils this snake was venomous and he wasn't really inclined to die today.

"Snakes do not have names, child. We find it pointless but since I know you human's believe in such attachments, you may call me Sanguini."

"Um right . . . Sanguini . . . I think you must be mistaken. I can't possibly be speaking . . . parseltongue. I've never even learned it!"

Sanguini, the snake, gave a hissy little laugh (or at least it sounded like the kind of noise a snake laugh would be) before replying, amusement clouding his tone. "Silly hatchling. Parseltongue is not taught, it is a hereditary trait. You are born with the gift. While many can imitate the noises of the tongue they will not understand it like you so yes child I am sure you are a parseltongue."

"Whoa . . . " Louis breathed, wonder clear in his voice. Perhaps, with it being hereditary, this gift was given to him by his parents. Perhaps he was more like them than he thought and while he had pushed all similarities away so far he felt a warmth in his chest at this one. The Dursley's didn't know of this particular gift, they couldn't taint it, and so Louis continued to speak to the small snake on his thigh for quite some time before bringing him to the orphanage with him, happy that he had something to remind him of his parents after all, something good.

That day Louis brought home something more than a snake, even more than an insight to those who had once loved him. He brought home a friend, his very first one, and it made the place just a bit more like home, a bit more alive, and he felt the ice that had been building inside him melt just a little.

* * *

 _Later on in the Tenth Year._

It was December and the children of the orphanage felt every second of it.

The winter was a harsh one that year. Many of the children had too thin coats, only scratchy pieces of cloth to wrap around their torso. All of their clothes were ripped and torn and no one had a single article of clothing to truly keep them warm. Their shoes were full of holes and the water and cold from the snow would reach in and bite at their toes. More than one came down with hypothermia and several were sick at a time. The air conditioner was broken and no heat was coming through and so they all suffered together, even inside. They couldn't escape the harsh winds or icy rains, much less the declining temperatures. The Matron brought out blankets and they would all huddle together beneath the quilts and embrace, sharing in the warmth that they could get. It wasn't much but they would take it and though many of the children despised each other, grudges were put aside as enemies and friends alike wrapped up and bundled close. It was too cold to be hateful.

Food was scarce. The countryside they lived in had suffered a drought during the last part of autumn and not enough produce was grown. Everyone around them was suffering but no one more than the orphans, no one more than that dingy little shack of an orphanage. The government wasn't supplying them with enough money anymore and there were no volunteers, people too selfish to even glance at them. They were starving and freezing and they had to wait another two weeks before the Matron would have enough personal funds to have someone come and repair the air conditioner.

Louis shivered as he ran down the street, a bag of apples slung across his shoulder. Behind him, a man dressed in blue chased him, yelling for everyone to hear.

"Catch him! Thief! Thief!"

No one tried to though. They all just looked on, continuing their day about as usual, not caring, just expecting the man to deal with it himself.

He shoved his way passed couples and families, dodging heavy handbags and burly shoulders. Eyes lingered on his form but only for a few seconds, only long enough to note that a person was there. Only long enough to dismiss him.

By the time the yells behind him diminished into nothingness and the people faded away, he was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. Ducking into an alleyway, he braced himself against a stone wall and closed his eyes, a pleased grin stretching across his face as yet another successful haste was done. God, how he loved the rush. Catching his breath, he reopened his eyes and stared down at the bag of apples that he had let fallen down by his feet. Grinning, he picked them up and ripped the plastic away with his teeth. Reaching in he grabbed a nice, rosy red apple and sunk his teeth in, moaning as he relished the taste. It had been too long. Much too long. Once he finished the apple down to the core, Louis threw it onto the ground, deciding the rats could have it, and slung the bag back over his shoulder before heading back to the orphanage. The others could split the rest.

Louis came back to the town the next day, though up a street from the last. No need to get caught after all. He walked down the cobblestone way, enjoying the soft murmur of people and the sound of his shoes slapping against stone. The harsh, eastern air bit at his skin, licking his face and nipping at his ears. It stung and yet he felt oddly numb to it all, detached. He felt hollow on the inside, watching these people perform their daily walk to and from work and back again for shopping. These people weren't like him. They had lives and money and people who wanted them, people who would miss them. They didn't have to steal to eat or share with over fifteen other kids. These people were selfish and most likely didn't even know it.

He walked into a bread store, relishing in the warmth that seeped straight into his bones. It was so nice, to be warm. He loved how it encaged him, surrounded him. Loved how every particle of air seemed to be alive and happy and willing to share it with him. He imagined that this feeling, of being warm after a cold walk, was similar to what a hug would be like. They too must feel very warm.

As the cashier tended to an elderly man with gray hair and a package of baguettes, Louis inched to the back row of the store, hiding behind the crates and rolls of bread. He let his eyes and hands wander, searching for something to bring home. There were loaves of bread, italian, white, wheat, raisin . . . and there! In the corner, tucked away at the top of a series of trays was a bag of rolls, none bigger than his fist, but enough there to feed most if not all of the children, should it be proportioned right.

Knowing that he couldn't possibly reach it, Louis looked around and seeing no one, stretched his hand out. Concentrating on the bag, he lifted the limb up and pulled it towards his chest, arching it down as he did so. He watched as the bag of rolls lifted wobbly from the tray before descending down towards him and into his arms with a slight "huff". Smiling, he shoved them into his overly large jacket and turned around.

Only to run into someone's chest.

Flinching backwards, he made to move around them but was stopped by a vice like grip wrapping around his wrist. He was shoved back towards the chest, slamming into it, which hurt quite a lot considering it was as hard as stone. Grimacing, he peeked through his bangs and up at a pretty face framed by black hair,

Before him stood a tall woman with long black hair that stretched a little past her breasts. She had a heart shaped face and large brown eyes that blinked at him with amusement. Her lips were painted blood red and when she smiled at him with a grin full of teeth he flinched, convinced she was someone bad.

"I saw that, little boy. My, my stealing . . . " She purred, pulling him closer and angling herself down so that they were on eye level. "What would your parents think now, hmm?"

"Don't know. They're dead." He spat, surprised at how harsh and cold it came out. But it was true. He didn't know, nor care for that matter, for his parents were dead. Perhaps, if they were alive he wouldn't have to steal but that was neither here nor there because the fact remained that they weren't here either.

The woman raised an elegantly sculpted eyebrow at him before grinning again, though now it seemed impossibly wider. "Well no matter that justs . . ." but she broke off, voice trailing away as she stared at him, eyes squinting a bit before widening a fraction. Her grin faded away as she snapped her mouth shut with an audible click. Lifting a hand, she traced something on his forehead ( _your scar_ his mind whispered) before straightening herself up, collecting her baring quite suddenly.

"Follow me, Harry Potter." And too shocked at hearing that old, forgotten name that only Sanguini knew, he did.

 **A/N: Quick question. Does anyone know any good HP fanfics where Harry has an eating disorder? Or any that have him shipped with tom riddle/voldemort? I've been into those recently and I've read quite a lot but yeah. Thanks.**

 **Please review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _The eleventh year._

Squinting, Louis bit on his tongue as he glared at the jagged piece of glass before him. He was sitting in his room at his desk, palms flat on the old piece of wood, as he forced himself to concentrate, focusing, willing on this glass to . . . it began to shake a little, rattling against the desk and his eyes widen a bit as . . .

" _What on earth are you doing, Hatchling?"_ The glass fell silent, resting limp on the desk now. He released a sigh of frustration before running a hand through his hair, spinning in his seat to face his bed where a long, thin snake rested on his lumpy pillow.

" _I'm trying to reshape the glass, Sanguini. Make it sharper and lighter. More . . . fluid in a sense. A better weapon, ready for me to use."_ He hissed to his friend, agitation plainly evident in his voice. Sanguini lifted his head before dropping it in what Louis knew to be a nod. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands, fingers lacing through his hair. He tugged tirelessly at the dark blonde strands. " _I don't understand why it's taking me so long."_

Sanguini gave a soft hiss like hum before sliding forward, wrapping himself around a leg of the bed, inching his way to the ground where he proceeded to slither over to him, coiling around the child's leg.

" _You are attempting to change the particle alignment, child. You're effectively making a whole new form of matter with it's current state. That is not an easy feat, especially in the sense you are speaking of."_

" _But freezing water wasn't hard at all!"_ Louis protested, dropping his hands and raising his head to look at the snake more fully.

Sanguini hissed a hum again. " _Yes but this is glass and you are not going from an already set solid to an already set liquid rather you're attempting to make the solid into a vapor-like substance and there is none of it's kind yet. You're creating, not switching. That is significantly harder, Louis."_

Louis knew he was right, Sanguini was always right, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. Never had he taken so long to accomplish a task for himself. When he had started controlling his wandless magic, as he now knew what it was called, he had noted quite early on how easily it all came to him, learning spells and tricks in a matter of days, if it even took that long, but he had spent a week already on this and he didn't seem to be getting any closer. He sighed again but remained silent. Perhaps he needed to just listen to the reptile and have patience. He would get there eventually anyway. It's not like he was accepting failure, just acknowledging a challenge. He felt his lips twitch a little at the thought. Yes, he would like a challenge.

" _Thankss Sanguini."_ He muttered to the snake, who flashed him something resembling a smirk on his tiny face.

" _Anytime, human."_ Shaking his head, Louis stood up, grabbing the shard piece as he did so. Placing it underneath his pillow, he replaced it with a book and rested along his mattress, back to the wall as he began to read with Sanguini wrapped leisurely around his shoulders. Before he could finish the third page though a knock echoed throughout his room and he peeked up, intrigued. No one visited his room.

"Louis? Zere is a woman downstairs for you. Madame Shira?" The matron of the orphanage stood in his doorway, graying red hair tucked in a messy, lopsided bun with loose strands framing her face in wispy curls of no accord. She had a tired face, full of lines and smudges of dirt, and at times he felt sorry for her, sorry for the woman who wasted her life away here, but he knew she loved it, despite it's coldness and bitterness. She enjoyed the children, despite how most of them would probably end up in prison if they continued the way they were heading. He had no doubt they would.

He smiled at her, a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes placed on his face. "Merci beaucoup, Madame." With that, she left, closing the door with a soft snap. He crawled off the bed, not having to shuffle forward much, and placed his book back under his pillow. Grabbing his coat that rested on the back of his desk chair, he tugged it on, being careful to not hit Sanguini too hard with it, as he made his way out of the tiny shoebox they all called a room, closing the door behind him.

Downstairs, a woman sat on one of the sofas, her long legs crossed at the knee, a black dress stretched over atop them. When she saw him, a twisted grin stretched itself across her face, painted a nice, dark plum color. He delighted in seeing her familiar face, full of big brown eyes and surrounded by wild yet gentle black curls.

"Shira," he purred, walking forward to accept the hand she held out for him. He placed a kiss on her knuckles, barely noticing the lack of warmth her body produced. He had gotten used to it, after all this time. "A pleasure as always."

Her grin didn't leave her face as he dropped the hand gracefully, her standing up, black heels clicking loudly against the rotting, soft wooden floors, sounding more like a thump than a click though. "Louis, darling, you're looking well." Amusement danced in her eyes as they locked with his blue ones.

"As well as could be expected, thank you, and you look as ravishing as ever, my lady." He smiled politely at her, enjoying the game they played.

She smiled her thanks, a smile that while cold to others expressed her sincere thanks to him. "Shall we be going?" She asked with raised brows, perfectly sculpted.

"Let's." He agreed, holding out his arm for her to take. She looped hers through his and they exited the orphanage together, neither neglecting to notice the many eyes following them.

He had met Shira about eight months ago in that grocery store down on fifth and the day seemed like so far ago that he felt nostalgic just remembering it. Walking down the street with the tall woman by his side, he allowed himself to be taken back to that cold winter day.

" _Where are you taking me?!" He hissed, panic laced into his voice just a little as the woman pulled him along behind her, hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. His eyes twitched as he looked around them at the people that walked leisurely by them, stepping around their bodies to avoid hitting them but not even looking at them, as if they failed to actually notice the pair._

" _Be quiet. I have to concentrate." She mumbled to him, her voice sharp but not snappish. He fought back a sigh as her paced increase, effectively dragging him now, and had to come to a very sudden halt as she paused in their walking, facing a wall of stone._

" _What are you doing?" He questioned her, eyeing her with narrowed eyes. Honestly, it was a brick wall, what did she expect it to do? Breath fire and utter riddles? The woman was absolutely bonkers._

" _Shhh," she hissed, eyes still focused on the wall before them. Rolling his eyes, he did as told and pondered his situation. Here he was, a young boy of the tender age of ten, snatched by a gorgeous woman who seemed to talk to walls, as she was now muttering something at it that he couldn't quite hear, and had a thing for delinquents. Great. Just great. He was kidnapped by a crazy, creepy weirdo. He was sure to be gutted and left in a box in an alley by midnight, he just knew it._

 _Before he could ask the woman what she was doing (again), she snapped around and smirked at him, obviously pleased with herself. Was it just him or did the air seem a bit warmer than it had a second ago? "Stick close to me, kid. And don't make too much noise." That was the only warning he got for within the next second, the brick wall was crumbling away, cement eroding into nothing and bricks becoming dust and ash. He watched, fascinated, with his jaw lax, as the wall just seemed to destroy itself, and behind it, well . . ._

 _Behind what was once a wall was a short little path, filled with no rocks or grass just dry, clumpy dirt, and at the end of it was a wooden door that was very light in color, a warm brown that seem to be fading away into nothingness, out of existence, before his very eyes. The woman strutted forward, hand still gripping his wrist, bringing him along, and flung the door open, not caring that it smacked against the brick walls that framed the boundaries of the path. Inside was what looked to be a pub. Booths lined the inside, hugging the circular shaped "wall". Tables and stools littered the inside of the circle and at the back of the room there was a long counter, with more stools, that was covered in tall, glass bottles, short ones, round looking ones, even one shaped like a swan, all filled with different colored liquids, most being red or amber. There were people everywhere and while a few heads turned their way, sharp eyes piercing Louis's, most just ignored them. He turned a questioning gaze to his companion, who had stopped to let him make his observations and was watching him._

" _Come on," she said, lightly tugging his wrist to get him to follow her into a nearby booth. Once they were both seated, menus appeared out of nowhere onto the table and a light purple colored glow flashed before the table's edge before dimming away. ("Privacy ward." He gaped in astonishment and saw her eyes brighten with a smirk tugging onto her red lips._

" _Find something to eat. I'll answer your questions after that but you need some food on you." She pointedly looked at him, her eyes locking on to his frail arms and emaciated chest, narrow shoulders and collarbones poking out._

 _Louis nodded, sliding the menu closer to him and opening it up. He had never been to a restaurant before, at least not to eat. There had been times when the Dursley's had stopped to get food, neglecting Harry, and he would watch as they scarfed down loads of fries drenched in ketchup and giant hamburgers. He wondered what that tasted like . . . . With a grin, he located what he wanted._

 _He didn't notice the giant brown eyes watching him in sad amusement._

" _Just tap what you want with your pointer finger three times. Someone will bring it to us." She explained, doing just that to her own menu. Following her example, though a bit skeptically, he folded it close and waited. Sure enough, not even five minutes later a man dressed in heavy, dark clothing appeared, a tray with two plates and two cups in hand. Setting down their meals, he flashed a cocky grin full of teeth at the woman before smirking at Louis, disappearing just as quickly as he came. Louis grabbed the cup and gladly swallowed the hot beverage. He had not had hot chocolate it quite awhile._

 _Across from him, the woman was slowly drinking a heavy red liquid from her champagne glass. Before her sat a salad, full of leafy greens and fresh carrots and red tomatoes. Noticing his gaze, she set her glass down and with a nod at his own plate, began eating. Taking the hint, he carefully bit into his fries, nibbling on them slowly. He wanted to relish this moment, enjoy the taste, for he was sure it wouldn't happen again._

" _Now, Harry-" she began, only to be interrupted by the boy._

" _How do you know that name? No one calls me Harry anymore." He said flatly, watching her but making no move to leave. He didn't know this strange woman and while there was a good chance she was going to kill him at the end of this excursion, he was thankful she fed him first. Quite the hostess if he must say so. She smiled at her, though it didn't reach her eyes._

" _I shall get to that soon, child, don't worry. Now, as I was saying, let me ask you a question. That stunt you pulled in the shop, the levitating the bread, have you done that before? Or something like it perhaps?"_

 _Louis stared at her, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. Of course he had done things like that before. He had repeatedly made things hover or split open when trying to gather food. He had disappeared and reappeared a number of times when branching out too far into the forest. He had even broken a kid's arm last summer without even touching him. Before the orphanage, at the Dursley's, he had turned his substitute teacher's hair blue, had regrown his own hair, had healed his own body, had hidden his injuries and scars, watching them just blend into his skin tone. He continued to look at her, wondering if he could trust her, could tell her such a secret, but then he remembered the wall and how she had made it crumble into nothing, thought about the menu and how things just appeared, thought about that purple light that had surrounded their table for a moment, and he felt as if she would understand. As if, she too, had this amazing gift._

" _Yes. . . yes I have. Many times." He said slowly, watching her face for any hint of disgust. If she was like his relatives, well . . ._

 _She smiled at him. "I thought so. You see, Harry, what you can do is called magic and there are many people like you. You're what we call a wizard, Harry, a very powerful one in fact. You have a gift, child, one that thrums beneath your skin, through your very bloodstream, coursing and beating it's own heart with yours. It's very alive and active and for one as young as you, quite controlled."_

 _It wasn't hard for him to accept the truth of her words. Hadn't he himself called it a gift? Hadn't he seen examples of it? What else could explain the strange happenings that occurred around him? Yes, he thought, yes this is magic. He nodded to show her he understood._

" _Magic is very special, Harry. Very special indeed. It can do a number of extraordinary things, things that we can barely even imagine. What do you know of your scar? The one on your forehead." He reached a hand up and ran it beneath his fringe, fingering the scar that was visible. The scar was the one thing he had left unchanged that night, many months ago. He had kept it, wanting to have a piece of his old self remain behind. It seemed like the best choice at the time, having no relation to his parents or relatives. It was just an ugly scar that symbolized the end of his happiness and it had symbolized the rebirth of a new beginning for him this time. Only now it seemed to be causing him trouble._

" _I was told once that I received it by some loose glass from a car accident that killed my parents. Why?" Her lips thinned out, jutting forward as if she were displeased._

" _It is true that you received that the day your parents died, but not in the way you were told. Many years ago, there was a war. A civil war between the magic population of Britain. People were being kidnapped, tortured, and murdered in their very homes. No one was safe. You didn't know who to trust or even who to listen to. One side was known as the Dark, composed of a Dark Lord named Voldemort and his followers known as Death Eaters. This side promoted for magical purity and isolation. They wanted to separate us from the muggle world entirely -muggles being people without magic, like those from the shop. They said muggles were dangerous and would destroy us. The Olde Ways, the foundation of the magical world, needed to be practiced and the muggles would only erase them. They wanted to keep magic as secret as possible and many agreed with this view. They also promoted for magical equality. They wanted equal rights between wizards, werewolves, and vampires. All the species really, or the ones that wanted it anyway. This gained the Dark Lord many allies and he was a very strong opponent. The other side of the war was the Light, lead by Albus Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. The Light believed we should coexist with the muggles, accept them and their beliefs into our world and adopt them as our own. The Light didn't believe in the Olde Ways, they saw them as oppressive and evil and wanted the whole system banned and it's practitioners arrested. The Light also believed that the muggle was wasn't dangerous to us at all, that we could easily slip in amongst their society and no one would care, for we have been doing so for centuries now. What would it matter if they knew we were there? Many people were split off, some joining the dark, others the light. A good portion settled for neutral, for they believed in the Dark's ideas but not in the way they went about them, others agreed with the Light but just couldn't stand Dumbledore. In the end though, this war claimed us all. Your parents, Harry, were apart of the Order and they fought for the ultimate sense of equality between wizards and muggles. They were a formidable force, facing Voldemort a number of times, taking out many of his Death Eaters. On Halloween night, ten years ago, Voldemort came to their home and murdered them. He went to kill you too, you see, but when he turned his wand on you and casted the Killing Curse, a curse no one has ever survived before, it backfired and struck him, forcing the man out of his body. Many believe him to be dead, no one's sure really, but what we are sure of is that you lived when others had not. You are the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry, and that scar is the evidence, the only mark of it all."_

 _He touched his fingers back to the scar, running the pads over its sharp but smooth edges. There had been a war, a war his parents had fought and died in. This Voldemort had killed them . . . had tried to kill him . . . "Why? Why did he come to kill us? Surely, we weren't that important. I mean, I understand they tried to kill him too but why not just send Death Eaters or kill them on the battlefield? Why hunt them down?"_

 _The woman nodded, humming with what sounded to him a very pleased note, as if she were glad he had asked. "You're right. Your parents had been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side but that never warranted a personal execution. No, see, what I am about to tell you is known by very few people, so you must never let anyone else know that you know this, understand?" She asked this quite seriously, her eyes boring deeply into his own, and he nodded silently. "Good. Before you were born, there was a prophecy. A prophecy that claimed there would be a child born at the end of July to parents who had defied the Dark Lord, and this child, this boy, would have the power to vanquish him. Naturally, Voldemort felt threatened and it was you he had in mind when going to Godric's Hollow that night. He went to kill you, Harry, for you could destroy his work, work that had taken nearly 60 years to get to."_

 _Louis stayed silent, processing what this woman was saying. He was the target. That man, Voldemort, had come to kill him and him alone. His parents had just gotten in the way, had died to protect him. It was his fault they were murdered. His. Voldemort wouldn't have killed them if not for him, would haven't had killed them if they weren't there, if they had stepped aside. He knew this because he had dreamed it, had dreamed of a cold voice demanding them to move, of bright green light and pain. His parents had died because of him._

" _Do you have any questions Harry?" She asked, taking a long sip of her drink. A drink that looked quite a lot like blood now that he thought of it._

" _Who are you? What are you?" He blurted out. "What side did you fight for?" This woman knew too much to not have fought, knew too much to just be an observer, a bystander. She grinned at him, the dark red of her lips clashing with the brightness of her teeth._

" _You, child, may call me Shira and I'm sure you're familiar with the term vampire. As for sides, well, I fought for the Dark side but make no mistake. I am not here to kill you for vengeance on my master's behalf. No, I am here to warn you."_

And warn him she had. That day had been the start of something great. The pair had begun planning, mapping out the course Louis Thompson was going to take once he turned eleven and officially joined the magical world again. He learned of the Olde Ways, of all the traditions that Witches and Wizards practiced. He was taught pureblood etiquette, politics, customs and courtesies, basic wandless magic, potions, and how he was going to be in danger. Voldemort wasn't gone, Shira had told him. Not gone at all. She had confessed that she knew for a fact the man had a safeguard in place but that if Louis played his cards right then he would be safe. No the real threat would be Albus DUmbledore.

Louis hadn't met the man yet and quite frankly he was dreading the day when that moment came. Dumbledore is a manipulative old man, Shira had told him, one who ensnares people with his kindness only to use them as he sees fit and them none the wiser. Dumbledore was going to try and use him as a weapon she had said. It was he who had spread the story of Voldemort's defeat, he who gave Harry Potter that ridiculous title, he who had placed him into the loving hands of the Dursley'. Dumbledore had paved his supposed path of destiny for him, entirely convinced in the prophecy, and would do everything he could to make sure Harry followed.

Only Harry didn't want to because he wasn't Harry Potter anymore. He was Louis and Louis wasn't some obedient little whelp. No, Louis was a rebel and did whatever the hell he wanted.

And so they planned for Hogwarts, having decided that they needed inside information that Beauxbatons just wouldn't provide them (no matter how much they preferred him going there). They knew a professor would come for him within the month, his "name" having been written down in the books since his existence came to be and they planned with that time frame in mind. Shira shoveled as much information into his brain as could fit. He would be the perfect pureblood heir she had told him, though no one would know that it was, he, Harry Potter. He would go as Louis Thompson, for that is what his magic was currently calling itself, and no one would be the wiser that the quiet muggleborn boy was really the rich and famous halfblood.

He smiled fondly, thinking of the day that Shira had told him of his true powers, of how his ability to change his appearance wasn't typical in the magical world but actually quite rare. He was a metamorphagus.

They had been discussing ways of hiding Harry Potter, of concealing his identity. She hadn't known how he had kept up the blonde hair and blue eyes, knowing they weren't his natural colors, muttering about glamours, but that a glamour wouldn't cover his scar. She had proceeded to gape at him when he had asked why he couldn't just make it disappear, before doing so. She had stared at him for three solid minutes, mouth agape and eyes wide, before collecting herself and explaining the gift of metamorphagi. She had asked him to change other things about himself for her, just as proof of his abilities, and when he had done so, making his hair pastel blue and shocking green and eyes a dark purple and giving himself cat ears, they had known that the plan would work. He could look whatever way he wanted and no one would suspect anything at all. After all, they were looking for a boy with black hair and green eyes and a lightning bolt scar, a boy that resembled his parents in every way. Blonde, tan, blue eyes,without any scars was hardly what they would think when no such boy appeared.

Louis Thompson would go to Hogwarts and listen. He would discover all that he could about magic and Harry Potter and the war and Louis Thompson would listen to what people had to say about him, about their true opinions of the "great saviour" behind his back, or rather unknowingly in front of them. Louis would learn and observe these people in their natural habitats, in their natural mindsets, so that when it was time for Harry Potter to make his debut, to return to the wonderful world of wizardry, he would already know who to trust.

No one was going to use him. He was no one's pawn, no one's toy, and if they couldn't accept him as Louis then they sure as hell weren't going to accept him as Harry. At least not sincerely.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine, Louis flashed Shira a smile as they made their way inside of the same restaurant they had sat in months ago.

Yes, he was going to enjoy this quite a lot.

* * *

 _Hands tugged at his clothes, guiding his body into a room bathed in white. They had lead him here, down a long hall void of any pictures, all five of them. Three nuns, a priest, and some man dressed in loose clothes. The room was empty, the only thing in there being a metal, white bed with no blankets, just a white sheet and pillow. Next the the bed was a white nightstand, nothing on it. Wrapped around the two end bars of the headboard were buckled, leather restraints. Arms shoved him forward, his body laying awkwardly on the mattress. They grabbed his feet and swung them to the right, onto the bed where they rested restlessly. His hands were yanked from his sides and he tugged on his limbs, trying to free them, but they paid him no mind, securing his wrists inside the restraints that they pulled tightly closed. He would not be escaping._

 _They left then, returning every other night to rest a hand against his forehead and utter biblical nonsense about how his body needed to be cleansed of a demon. No food or water was given to him, they claimed it would nourish it and so he was to fast. The man that had dressed in loose clothes came on the third and sixth day with a knife, cutting little lines into his arms and stomach. "To release the demon," he said "he shall escape your body through this way. He needs an exit."_

 _They were crazy, his mind would utter and hiss as they drew more lines and whispered more words into his ears, chanting chanting chantingchantingchanting . . . ._

 _On the seventh day, they released the restraints and hauled him up, his body to weak to protest, to fight, to run. He was back in the hall again, the endless hall of white void of nothing. Perhaps they were taking him to Heaven, he thought bitterly. "Don't be a fool," his mind had whispered. "They think you are a demon, a child of Satan. You would be lead to Hell."_

 _They had actually taken him to a bathroom, where a large, clawed tub rested in the center of the room. There was no toilet, no sink, or shower. Just this tub and a basket of soaps and cloths. They stripped him bare, taking his clothes and tossing them into a bag, which one of the nuns left the room with only to return without. He was lifted and placed into the water, water that was viciously cold. They scrubbed his body quite harshly with the cloth, their nails scratching his skin and leaving red trails behind as they rushed to cover his skin. He was scrubbed raw before they bathed him, rubbing the rough piece of cotton with some unscented soap onto his skin. It burned, he remembered thinking. Like fire._

 _Perhaps he is in Hell after all._

 _When they were done, saying that they had to cleanse him of the demon for it was still there, they brought him back to the room of white. They didn't give him any clothes but they did give him some bread,a small portion but bread nonetheless. He was restrained again and the process continued for the next three days. On the fourth day of the second week, they brought scissors and cut his hair and he watched as thick, black strands fell to the floor and clumped together._

" _You shall be rebirthed, child. Rebirthed." Rebirthedrebirthedrebirthed._

 _They released him on the fourteenth day with his body thinner than it had been when he came in. WIth his skin scrubbed raw and covered in little red cuts and purple bruises. With his hair short and eyes hooded. With his body itching with salt and burning with holy water and praised by the words of God._

 _Yes. Yes, he had been cleansed._

 _He was clean. Clean clean clean._

He woke with a start, eyes snapping open to stare at the dark expanse of his room. Sanguini looked at him with a heavy gaze, weighed down by exhaustion as he roused from his slumber.

 _"What bothers you, child?"_ He hissed tiredly. Louis reached over and ran a finger down the snake's scales. His lips remained closed and eventually the snake fell back asleep.

In the morning he would take a shower, where he would scrub his skin raw and whisper about needing to be clean.

 **A/N: Next chapter is the Hogwarts letter and Diagon Alley. Time jumps are over.**

 **Also thanks to everyone that recommended stories, though I didn't get any for eating disorders so if you have any of those please mention them. Thanks.**

 **Please review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Louis raised his spoon, lifting it up to his lips and silently slurpped the milk up, relishing in the taste of it as the cold liquid filled his mouth and slipped down his throat. Around him, sitting at the same, long wooden table as he, were a bunch of other boys, all dressed in thin cottons, munching on slices of toast or eating away at their cereal. It was breakfast time and they were all required to eat together, at the same time, if they wished for any food. Louis didn't mind, the children weren't that bad. Sure, a few were little shits that he would gladly castrate in their sleep to avoid detection but other than the normal boys, everyone left him alone. Casting a sidelong glance over to said boys, he found them tipping their cups of juice back like shots of tequila and he withheld a wince as trail ran down their chins and onto their clothes. Honestly, didn't the idiots know a thing about manners, or at the very least hygiene?

Looking away, he continued to silently eat his cereal. He could feel the sunlight on his back as it shined brightly through the thin glass panes and gave a content sigh. He was grateful for the heat. Summer was never that bad. Hot, sure, but at least they could properly take care of that to avoid anything. Winter wasn't like that at all. He shuddered to even think about the blasted season. Too bad his birthday was in winter. Technically, it's not . . . a voice whispered in the back of his head but he pushed it away, not willing to listen to it. Louis's birthday was in winter and he was Louis now so that was that. The specifics and technicalities of it didn't mean a thing.

As he finished his bowl, listening to the soft clink of silverware on glass, he stood up and headed into the kitchen, where he rinsed and cleaned it before setting it on the drying towel on the counter. He didn't have to do it, he knew this as he looked at the countless dishes in the sink, bowls with milk rings, plates with crumbs, and cups with dirty bottoms, but he did anyway. The Matron did a lot for them and it was the least he could do.

Besides, old habits die hard and his weren't even trying to die. Not that he blamed them. He was sure it was terrible business, dying. No fun or imagination in that.

Going upstairs, Louis thought upon the last four years here. They had been harsh, unbelievably so, living in the poorest section of Paris, France did that to a timeframe, but he knew it could be worst. He had lived worst. At least here he was allowed to have books and a room and his own clothes, even if those books were tattered, room terribly empty and cramped, and clothes too thin. Here he was allowed to be an actual person, his own person. A new name and look didn't change that about him. Louis let his hand out and grazed his fingers against the stair rail, keeping in there as he went upstairs.

The second floor of the orphanage was full of rooms. About thirty of them, each with a desk, chair, closet, and bed, equipped with a single window. The walls were an off white, graying with age and spotted brown with filth. There were no pictures hung on the wall, no framed smiles or laughs. Just a long, old, dirty white hall of chipped, white doors.

Louis opened the fourteenth door on the left as he walked, slipping in quite easily and locking the door behind him. Plopping down on the bed, not caring one bit for elegance for once (no one was around and he was tired!), he narrowly avoided landing on Sanguini's thin frame, who lifted his head and hissed at him, annoyed.

"Watch it, snakeling! I'm resting!" The snake snapped before tucking his head back into his coils and nodding back off into a peaceful slumber. Smiling a bit fondly, he rolled his eyes and turned onto his side, facing away from his friend but towards the door in the left corner of his room. He felt tiredness in his bones as his limbs became heavy, lagging. Darkness prickled at his vision but he pushed it away for the moment. He didn't want to sleep, not right now.

Unfortunately for him, Louis's body did not care for his opinion and drug the boy into the wonderful arms of Morpheus, who gladly accepted him.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was running late and for anyone that knew her, this was a very strange thing indeed because while most people experienced tardiness, Minerva did not, didn't even tolerate it. To be running behind, as she was now, was just simply unacceptable to the aging witch and she huffed in annoyance, tugging at her robes a bit as she quickened her pace.

But, like most people who were late (and Minerva hated to be compared to most people), she had a very good reason for this. A very good one indeed.

She muttered the password to the gargoyle, jogged up the stairs, and opened the Headmaster's door with a bit of a rush. Inside, seated before a large, oak desk in plush, purple chairs, were her fellow colleagues Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, and Severus Snape. Beside Filius was an empty chair, presumably for her. On the other side of the desk was the very man she was wishing to speak with: Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the school she taught at.

"Ah Minerva! So glad of you to join us, I was just telling Severus about that one time I-" Albus began, an amused grin on his face as the Potions professor scowled deeply, no doubt annoyed at a retelling of another pointless story, when Minerva interrupted him, having no time for his antics.

"Albus, he's gone."

"Gone?" The man repeated, grin still in place as he looked at her in confusion. "Who, my dear?"

"Harry Potter! His name isn't on the list of upcoming students and we all know he'd be eleven this year, sir."

And just like that, the biggest bombshell of the last decade was dropped. Funnily enough, it was caused by the very same person who had done the last bombshell.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived to be Missing.

"Oh my," Albus sighed, stroking his beard with a frown, staring pointedly away from the gaping faces of his staff. "That isn't good at all."

Miles and miles away, with a snake tucked into his side, having had slithered on over, Harry Potter, now known to all as Louis Thompson, slept on, unaware of how his decision all that long ago was just now making waves.

 **A/N: I know I said this would be the Diagon Alley chapter but when I finished this seemed like a good place to start instead of a page break. I felt like a PB would still make it seemed a bit rushed. Fortunately, the next chapter won't take long to get here since this one's VERY short and it will most likely be pretty long. My longest yet no doubt. Also, the exorcism in the last chapter isn't going to play a big part at all in this story, yes there's a point behind it, but don't worry about it. It won't be mentioned for quite awhile, if ever honestly. I might slip it in elsewhere, you never know.**

 **Until then. Please review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Filius Flitwick walked down the broken street with a frown as he eyed the dead grass and smelt the lingering scent of burnt leaves. He had been sent by the Headmaster to go and inform a few muggleborns of magic, to integrate them into society, in place of Minerva while all of those who had been involved in the first Order of the Phoenix struggled to find Harry Potter. Filius withheld a sigh as he thought of that particular boy. Who knows what happened to him.

But he pushed all thoughts of the famous Boy-Who-Lived out of his mind. Yes, he was worried for the child but he wasn't here for him. No, today Filius was to meet a certain Louis Thompson, who was already proving to be a strange case.

Louis lived in France, you see. In an orphanage to be exact and, judging by the decrepit state of the area, a very poor one at that. There were very few cases where a child from another country was invited to attend Hogwarts. After all, France had Beauxbatons to offer it's children. But Louis's name had been on the list of children for Hogwarts and so it could only be inferred that he had been born in England and had stayed long enough to manifest signs of accidental magic there. The Hogwarts Roll wouldn't have picked him up otherwise. It was the boy's location that made Filius go in fact. While Minerva and Pomona were handling most of the muggleborns this year and he very few, he was the only one familiar enough with France and it's language to have any shot at actually talking to the boy. Those years in the Dueling League, chasing and filling certain circles, proved well for him today. He had interacted with many French duelists, for France had a very elegant and quick dueling style that was unique to it's country, making them fierce opponents, and was quite comfortable in the language and area as well. Many competitions had been placed here after all. Why he had won his first Championship in a Tournament in France! This was what made him have the honor of interacting with the young wizard and he had happily accepted the long task of international portraying (something not many would consent with for it's awful lurching). It would be nice to see the beautiful country again.

Unfortunately for him, and Louis as well, he wasn't sent to the more luscious side of the well known Paris, France. They were close, no doubt hanging on the skirts of the city, but they were not to meet within the elaborate streets and gorgeous gardens. There were no cafes or street carts here. No there was only the sight of death around him and overall it was very depressing.

Despite that, Filius looked forward to meeting the young man. It was always a glorious sight, meeting muggleborns. They had such amazement for magic, something that overtime would come to be taken for granted. It was quite refreshing in all honesty. He loved witnessing that spark of excitement as a secret gift became known to be shared, the giant grins of walking down Diagon Alley for the first time, looking at a whole new side of the world, their world, that they were now apart of.

He hated watching the amazement fade but it always came.

When he first saw the orphanage he had to do a doubletake to the address before him and the one written on a ripped corner of parchment he had within his pocket. He had expected something . . . more. The building was old and ragged, worn away by weather and time. It had seen better days, a long time ago, he was sure. The white paint and plastic on the wood was chipping away to reveal rotting oak. There was a great deal of grime on the windows, some of which were shattered and broken, and he eyed the long porch with bent in steps warily, briefly wondering if it would hold his weight before shaking it out of his mind. There were many children here after all and if it couldn't support them he'd imagine there would be some holes, which there were not, so it was safe enough to cross.

The wood creaked beneath his feet as he walked up the steps, inwardly cringing as he hoped it to hold. With a sigh of relief, he crossed over the threshold and opened the front door, stepping into a somewhat spacious sitting area. A large, ripped sofa rested against the right wall, opposite of it was a staircase. Before him was a hall that he could see lead to a dining area and kitchen. Looking around he noticed no front desk or reception area. No one was in sight. Where were the caretakers?

"Qui vous?" a small voice asked in french from his left and he spun around to see a tiny child, a toddler, with messy brown hair and large brown eyes. It's legs were bare and beneath a large, slightly transparent white shirt one could see a nappy. A blanket of blue was in the boy's hands and he smiled at the child, a child that was just a bit shorter than him. Quite a refreshing sight, that.

"Je mappelle Filius. Et tu?" He responded in kind, the soft french rolling off of his tongue easily.

"J'ai Grey. J'ai quatre ons" The boy said, suddenly excited as he showed him four fingers, chest puffed out proudly. Filius smiled at him. "You weally short." The boy commented in english, surprising him, and Filius chuckled good naturally.

"Why yes I am," he smiled but before he could say anymore a woman with graying red hair walked down the stairs, a frown marring her tired face, as she looked about the room before her eyes rested on the boy.

"There you are. You can't just leave your room when you finish your nap, Grey. You could've woken up the others. Plus, I didn't know where you went." She scolded him lightly, picking up the tiny child and resting him on her hip. Grey, unfortunately, didn't look regretful whatsoever and just stared at her innocently. He was surprised to find the woman also speaking french but since the boy did he supposed it made sense. Somewhat had to teach him after all. Filius cleared his throat and watched in silent amusement as she quickly spun around and looked at him with widening eyes.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't even notice you, my apologies. We don't have many visitors." She smiled at him and he could see the sadness there, which he returned with his own smile. Yes, they didn't look to have many visitors at all if the conditions they lived in were anything to go by. No adoptions meant no money and in an orphanage that would no doubt set them back. The government expected results after all.

"It's alright." He said kindly, looking up at her. She fussed with the boy on her hip for a minute, avoiding looking at him, before meeting his gaze head on.

"Let me just go put Grey back down and I will be with you shortly, Mr. …?"

"Flitwick, ma'am. Filius Flitwick." He supplied for her. She nodded distractedly.

"Mr. Flitwick, then. Please, make yourself comfortable. It will only take a minute" Waiting to witness him sitting down on the sofa, she headed back up the stairs, muttering quietly to the boy in her arms, no doubt still admonishing him for running off. Looking around, Filius continued to take in his surroundings, eager to know what his new charge had grown up in.

There were no pictures on the walls. They were bare and painted a pale green color, though pieces of plaster had fallen off to reveal white underworkings beneath and even a few peeks of wood. The floor was somewhat dusty, a thin layer lining the room at the baseboards and in the corners. Some dirt had collected by the door and continued into the hall and up the stairs, no doubt from the children's shoes. In front of him was a low coffee table that had wax lines from crayons on it and various little indents in it's structure. He could make out a few carvings from a butterknife and even four pricks from a fork.

"Alright, Mr. Flitwick, I am the Matron here. Sarah Sterling. How may I help you?" The woman had returned and she walked over to him during her speech, bending slightly to shake his hand politely, which he was quite pleased with as so few did these days.

"I'm actually here to visit one of your boys, ma'am. You see he has a place within the school I teach at, has since his birth. I assume his parents had paid for it when he was born." Filius didn't like lying to the woman but as a muggle he couldn't just tell her everything. He couldn't just tell her that a magical quill and some records recorded the birth of every magical child in Britain, Scotland, Ireland, and the surrounding Isles now could he?

The woman had lead him through a door tucked away in the corner, which he had failed to notice somehow, and into a small room with a desk and three chairs, two in front and one behind. Behind the desk was another door, which he assumed lead to her living quarters.

"I see." She murmured, gesturing for him to take a seat as she placed herself in the blue armchair behind the desk. He did so, resting his hands on the red armrests. "And what can you tell me of this school? We don't have any money to send the children anywhere fancy, I'm afraid." And she truly looked regretful as she said this, her eyes downcast and voice small. Filius frowned at this but tugged it into a small smile before replying when her eyes rose to face him.

"Money isn't an issue. Hogwarts Academy provides scholarships to those who need them."

She nodded, looking thoughtful, though Filius happily noted that some of the tension in her had faded away, no doubt glad that one of her children could leave. "Hogwarts Academy. Is that the name of your school, Mr' Flitwick?"

"Yes, Hogwarts is where I teach, ma'am. It is located in Scotland and a select number of students are accepted each year to attend. Most of these children are put down at birth by their parents, though a few are added later on should we discover them and find our interests peaked."

"And what kind of school is Hogwarts, if you don't mind me asking?" She questioned, eyeing him with pursed lips. She looked horribly tired, he noted once more.

"Not at all," he smiled kindly. "Hogwarts is a private boarding school for children ages 11 to 17. There, we teach them an assortment of subject areas, mathematics and chemistry to name a few, and is specifically geared to guiding them into their set career paths, not unlike your average colleges here madame."

Sarah nodded her head once more, eyes looking down at her desk where one of her hands could be seen fingering a ballpoint pen leisurely. After a moment's pause, she looked back up at him. "And who are you offering a place at your school to?'

"Louis Thompson, ma'am."

A small, sad smile wormed it's way onto her face as she looked at him, her surprised gaze fading away. "Ah Louis . . . . Well I can't say I'm surprised."

"Would you mind telling me a bit about Louis ma'am? It would help with introducing him to the idea. Better to know future students as well." He smiled.

The woman smiled back at him, nodding slowly, absentmindedly. "Of course. Louis is like your typical child. He spends most of his time outside, though not within the yard. I often see him sneaking into the forest behind us or heading up the street into town. He doesn't like to stay here, inside. Some of the older boys pick on him you see, little things usually, every once in awhile. Nothing too harsh, I think. They find him a bit weird I'm afraid to say. Boys will be boys, you know? He doesn't have any real friends though whenever he returns with gifts of food he shares with us all. A kind boy, Louis. Sticks to himself. Whenever he is here, he has his nose in a book. Quiet." As she spoke, her voice was soft and thoughtful. Filius supposed she was reminiscing, seeing the child in her head as she talked about him. He nodded.

"And has anything . . . strange happened around Louis? How does he respond to these other boys, the ones who aren't very nice to him?"

Sarah chewed on her lip before releasing it, eyeing him. "Well, I'm not too sure what you mean by that question but . . . a lot of things break when Louis gets angry? So I guess you could say he has his emotions running high? As for the others, while it's never been proven, Louis seems to ruthlessly prank them in their sleep. Odd things happen to them after incidents, like their hair being cut off or favorite toys misplaced for days before being found, but other than that, Louis is a perfectly well behaved child. He only acts out when provoked. Like I said, Louis is very kind and quiet. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

Filius nodded, pleased with what he was hearing. Louis seemed like a splendid child with a small mischievous side, not unlike the Weasley twins, though his seemed more tamed. Yes, Louis would do well at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, ma'am. Now may I speak to Mr. Thompson?"

"Of course," she said, standing. Filius repeated the motion and followed her out of

the room and upstairs to the second floor, which was just as barren and torn as the first, that was lined with doors. Stopping before one around the middle of the left side, Sarah raised her fist and knocked politely before cracking it open and poking her head in.

"Louis? You have a visitor, may he come in?"

"Of course, ma'am." A slightly muffled voice said from behind the door and the woman stepped back, opening the door wider for him to enter, shutting it politely behind him as she left with a smile. Turning his attention to the point of his visit, Filius saw a young, thin boy sitting on the edge of his bed with a book beside him. He had dark blonde hair, with fringe falling onto his forehead. Blue eyes stared at him, analyzing, as he took a seat in the desk chair.

Filius smiled at the boy.

"Hello, Louis. How are you?"

* * *

Louis shifted his face into a blank slate as his door was opened wide to reveal an extremely short man in a tailored grey suit and polished shoes. The man walked calmly into his room, smiling politely as he placed himself into Louis's desk chair, making himself comfortable.

He knew why the man was there. Shira had told him all about how a Hogwarts teacher would be coming to see him after his eleventh birthday (his real birthday that is) to explain magic and invite him to attend the school. She had stressed the importance of this meeting, instructing him to be at his best behavior for it would be his first act as a disguised Harry Potter among curious wizards. His first real act anyway; Shira didn't count.

And so he smiled politely at the man, at this professor of Hogwarts, and kept his guarded eyes focused on him, all thoughts on the matter locked securely within his mind. He thanked the gods for Shira having had passed those books on Occlumency to him. He had loved studying the art and knew that it was coming in handy at the moment, allowing him to conceal his emotions. Such a task would be harder, would require more attention, should he had not had the walls built and in the process of perfecting. Shira had called him a natural after all.

"Hello, Louis. How are you?" The man asked him kindly, resting his hands in his lap. He was not surprised by the use of english, though he would have opened up with french. They were in France after all. Just because the matron spoke it didn't mean they all did. That was a fair assumption though so he didn't fault the man.

"I'm doing well, sir, and yourself?" He returned politely, tilting his head to the right just a bit. Curiosity was a common trait in eleven year olds, right?

The professor beamed. "Marvelous, young man, simply marvelous. Now, I think it best to just get straight to the point. You see, Louis, my name is Filius Flitwick and I am a professor at a very prestigious school known as Hogwarts and I have come to offer you a place within our student body."

Louis blinked and blinked again. He knew this of course but Flitwick couldn't know that. "A school, sir? What kind of school?"

The tiny man's grin stretched even more at this, no doubt excited and pleased by his response as he eagerly continued. "Ah now that is the question, isn't it? Yes, Mr. Thompson, Hogwarts is a school of magic."

"M-Magic?" He forced himself to stutter, trying for shock. "I don't understand, professor. Magic isn't real."

Flitwick continued to grin and shook his head patiently. "I assure you, Louis, that magic is very real. Tell me, has anything strange ever happened to you when you felt scared or upset? Anything that you just couldn't explain?"

Louis pretended to think about this before widening his eyes a bit, letting his mouth fall open a little into a gape. "Once, when one of the boys was chasing me, I wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere safe, and I found myself in my room. Another time, I made my lights turn off from my bed just by thinking about it and for a spoon to appear at breakfast when I forgot one." Louis didn't tell him that these happened a long time ago, when he hadn't learned to control it. He didn't tell him about his ability to change his appearance (that would be counterproductive) or that he could speak to snakes (Shira said that many considered that particular talent evil) or that he "teleported" often now or that he was actively warping things around him to strengthen his wandless abilities. He didn't tell him anything.

Flitwick's eyebrows lifted a bit. "Apparate and conjuring at your age? Impressive. You see, Louis, what you did, disappearing and turning the lights on and making a spoon from nothing, is what we call magic and you have a great deal of it if what you're saying is true. There is a whole community of witches and wizards in the world, Louis, and they all learn to train, to control, their magic with training, which is why I invite you to attend Hogwarts."

"So . . . so magic is real?"

Flitwick smiled at him, his grin had softened during their conversation. "Yes it is. You're a wizard, Louis."

"I-I'm a wizard?" Flitwick nodded encouragingly. "Bloody hell."

The professor laughed. "Indeed, Mr. Thompson. Though I suggest you not use such words at Hogwarts. Some of the professors might take points if they hear it." He winked cheekily at Louis, who was slightly surprised at the exchange but grinned easily anyway.

"Can you . . . can you show me some magic, professor? Just to be sure . . . ." Louis trailed off, looking at the man as he nervously bit his lip.

Flitwick flashed him another grin as he pulled out a long, thin dark piece of wood that Louis knew to be his wand. "Before I begin, please remember that as an underage student, underage being under 17, you are not allowed to perform any magic understand?" When Louis nodded, the man continued. "Excellent, now . . ."

With a flick of his wrist, the man had his bed rising up from the ground and Louis looked eagerly to the floor, which was several feet below him, before glancing up at the ceiling and placing his hands, palm flat, against it, grinning madly.

While Louis knew of the existence of magic, it never failed to amaze him. Sure this was simply levitation and he could easily perform the action, but watching another perform it was riveting and to just see this amazing gift being used, see this gift that made him, them, so unique and special, nothing like his relatives had been, was amazing. It was beautiful and he loved every second of it.

Smiling at him, Flitwick placed his bed back on the floor and tucked his wand into his sleeve. _Wrist holster,_ Louis's mind supplied helpfully.

"Now that is just an example of one of the spells you will be learning at Hogwarts this year. It is a simple charm taught to you in Charms, my class." The man said kindly.

Louis grinned. "What all does Hogwarts teach us, professor?"

Flitwick shifted in his seat before continuing. "Well there's Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, and History of Magic. Flying is also taught your first year, but only your first, and once you enter third year you have to take two more classes. Your options being Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures."

"And what exactly are those last few subjects, professor? What's a muggle?"

"A muggle is a person with no magical ability whatsoever and has no affinity for it either. In wizarding society, we have muggleborns, who are born from muggles, halfbloods, who have muggle and magical blood within them, purebloods, who only have magical blood, and squibs, who are born to those with magical blood but have no magic to claim as their own. Squibs are basically the inverse of muggleborns. You, Mr. Thompson, are most likely a muggleborn since you live in this orphanage instead of with a magical family. Now, back to the point, Muggle Studies is the study of Muggles and their culture, through the course is a bit behind in times to be honest. Arithmancy is basically mathematics and their application to magic, primarily in spell creation and potions, as well as their connection to the future. Ancient Runes is the study and application of runes, which is helpful in mainly ritual magic and warding. Divination is the study of the future, dreams, and souls, to an extent. Care of Magical Creatures is the study of various creatures in the wizarding world and how one can take care of them. You are tested of these subjects in your O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. at the end of your fifth and seventh years respectively. Those are essentially standardized tests."

Louis took all of this in thoughtfully. He had read a great deal of Hogwarts, having read Hogwarts: A History from page to page quite thoroughly, but hearing about the school was significantly different than reading about it. Here, it was real.

"What else can you tell me about Hogwarts, professor?" Louis inquired, lifting an eyebrow to emphasize it. Flitwick gained a thoughtful look.

"Well, Hogwarts is divided into four houses, a tradition instituted by our founders.

They are Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw and the students are sorted into them at the start of their first year. The Houses are revolving around key personality traits and they are essentially your family during your time at school. You become very close with your housemates. You live with them, attend classes with them, and eat meals with them. Not that you can't befriend those from other Houses, it's just not that common. Not really anyway. Hufflepuff is the House of the loyal and determined. A lot of people view Hufflepuffs as pushovers and weak but that's not the case. They are hard working, passionate, kind, and generally very easy going, happy people. They are excellent at hide and seek," here the professor chuckled as if he were enjoying a private joke. "Next comes Slytherin. Most people label this House as evil for a lot of Dark Wizards come from Slytherin but that's purely subjective and quite stereotypical. "Evil" wizards can come from any House. Slytherin's value resourcefulness, cunning, ambition, and self preservation. They tend to be excellent at strategy and while come off as standoffish and cold can be the most fierce of friends. They have a long rivalry with Gryffindor, who are known to be chivalrous, brave, curious children. Gryffindor's play a lot of mischief and tend to be quite the risk takers. People tend to think them reckless and brash but I think there are many who are the complete opposites of such. Lastly is Ravenclaw, which I am the Head of." Professor Flitwick paused here to smile proudly at Louis. "Ravenclaw's are known for their intelligence and quest for knowledge. They seek answers, marking them as curious, and want to know as much as they can about anything. I know that a good portion of people think Ravenclaw's to be nothing but a bunch of overachievers and boom worms but to tell you the truth Louis a lot of my House could care less for their grades. They like the learning part but not the homework." Flitwick laughed.

Louis eased his posture into a slightly slumped over form and took all of this in. While he could see himself within all of the Houses he wasn't sure which one he would be sorted into. He was hardworking like the Hufflepuffs. He had no qualms getting dirty and trudging through rough waters to accomplish any of his tasks. He was definitely ambitious enough for Slytherin. He had a lot of ideas for the world, for himself, and he had no plans for stopping. He was a risk taker and Gryffindor would accept that. Louis didn't mind doing dangerous things if it got him results, plus he liked exploring, it brought him Sanguini after all. As for Ravenclaw, Louis was an extremely curious child. He raced through books like one breathed in oxygen and liked getting his hands on new information. But he wasn't big on being nice or self preservation or bravery or always learning. He wasn't going to be anyone's mother or hero, wasn't going to be the kid to raise their hand in class or study every step he took. Louis wasn't like that and honestly didn't know where he'd be sorted.

"Professor," he called, suddenly remembering something "I don't have any money. I'm afraid I won't be able to pay for Hogwarts."

Flitwick shook his head slightly. "No worries, Louis. Hogwarts has a special scholarship fund for students who can't afford to pay for school. I do suggest you do a blood test at Gringotts, that's the wizard bank, next year though. See if you have any inheritances. Maybe your parents were magical and left you something. The chances are slim, which is why we won't be doing it today plus we're short on time, but it doesn't hurt to check."

Louis nodded his thanks before continuing his questioning. "What all do I need for school sir?"

Flitwick reached inside his waistcoat before pulling out a thick envelope and handing it to Louis. On the back side of the creamy paper were the words:

 **Mr. L. Thompson,**

 **Room 14,**

 **St. Mary's Orphanage,**

 **Paris,**

 **France.**

Smiling slightly despite himself, Louis tore the letter open and after scanning over the acceptance letter, he tucked it behind the second, which was a list of school supplies.

"Where will we get all of this, sir?" He asked, frowning. He truly was curious about this one. He had gone to the closest magical alley of Paris many times with Shira but this school wasn't in France and they would no doubt expect him to buy his materials in Britain, with it being an English school. It seems he was right for Flitwick responded that they were going to be portkeying to London where they would be traveling to Diagon Alley. France wouldn't be able to give him his Hogwarts robes, after all. Their standard was Beauxbatons.

And with that, Flitwick instructed him to get dressed, for he was still in his pajamas, and meet him downstairs where they would depart and head on out. The moment the door shut behind the man, Louis wandlessly locked it and turned to his bed, moving his pillow aside to reveal Sanguini, who was all curled up in the sheets and bed post, flicking his tongue about in his slight irritation.

" _Come along, Sanguini, we're going to London."_

* * *

Louis met Flitwick in the sitting room downstairs dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a light brown shirt. An overly large black jacket was slung over his shoulders to cover Sanguine, who was wrapped around his arms and shoulders, lounging peacefully behind his neck. His head was resting atop his left shoulder with his body stretching behind Louis's neck and around the length of his right arm. Just to be sure, Louis has placed a Notice Me Not charm on him. No sense in letting Flitwick (or Sarah for that matter as she was talking to the man) know that he had a large snake.

"Ready to go?" Flitwick asked him cheerfully, having had finally noticed his approach. Matron Sarah turned slightly at his words and smiled kindly down at him.

He nodded.

"Before you go," Sarah said softly, her voice barely reaching his ears despite how close they stood. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and he had to restrain himself, feeling the flinch wanting to be released. He hated that he hadn't fully rid himself of that particular reaction but he supposed that not all scars would fade. "I just want to tell you how happy I am for you, Louis. I know you're excited." She smiled at him some more and he allowed himself to return it, though his was significantly smaller.

Yes, Sarah would know that he'd want to leave wouldn't she? She always protected him when she could. He had no doubt that she didn't tell Flitwick everything when he, no doubt, questioned her about him. Sarah kept secrets rather well, especially his secrets. It paid to be liked.

"Thank you," he replied with a tilt of his head and she gave his shoulder a squeeze (again, he restrained the flinch; it didn't help that he had a few bruises there from an altercation with a street rat in town) before releasing him and taking a step back.

"Well then," she sighed. "Will you be returning for the remaining of the summer?" Receiving a negative from Flitwick with a remark that appropriate lodging had been made for him, she smiled sluggishly. "Have fun then, Louis. Enjoy yourself and behave for Professor Flitwick will you?" Giving the affirmative, though slightly offended that she'd doubt him enough to remark on such a thing, Louis turned away from her.

"Shall we, Mr. Thompson?" Flitwick said, stepping to the side and gesturing dramatically to the door. Lips twitching, he headed outside. Not once did he look back. It wasn't really a goodbye, he knew he'd return next summer, but it a sense this was the closing of a chapter and the beginning of another. His life had changed today, just like it had all those years ago, and it shifted something inside him. Grinning, he continued on.

* * *

In retrospect, Louis really shouldn't be surprised at how limited Diagon Alley actually

was. Sure there were plenty of shops of various sizes that catered to many needs and customers and sure there were many alleys connected to it that could cater to other needs but for the most part, Diagon Alley wasn't living up to his expectations.

Back in Paris, Shira had taken him many times to the main shopping center of France and Ration Alley was a very long strip of stores and cafes, full of restaurants and boutiques. It had barbers, salons, spas, high class restaurants, tiny diners, simple cafes, mainstream clothing lines, tailors, specialty bought dresses, a customized robe shop, muggle fashion, shoe departments, jewelers, blacksmiths, apothecaries, ready-made potion suppliers, a herbs picker, owl emporiums, reptiles exhibits, common pets shops, local sources of entertainment, a music store, art supplier, home and gardens, furniture, bags and trunks, the list goes on and on and yet as he walked down Diagon Alley with Professor Flitwick by his side, he noticed so very little of this. He knew Britain was behind, that they hadn't merged with some of the more profitable styles of muggle society (like their forms of business marketing), but he didn't think they were _this_ behind.

Diagon Alley did had precisely one shop for trunks and such, three for clothes (only one of which had casual muggle wear), one jeweler, one cafe, one ice cream parlor, a newspaper center, an apothecary, one herbology store, two restaurants, two bookstores (one for new books and the other for used), a wand crafter, one specialty store of miscellaneous items, and one salon. Other than that, there was nothing. Sure, the businesses seemed to take up most of the alley but it was a rather short alley, it didn't stretch very far. Overall, Diagon Alley held nothing more, nothing special, and he knew that there was a lot of shopping that had to be done elsewhere and yet it was this alley that was the main hub. He didn't quite understand it. Perhaps it was just a convenience thing? There was an Inn at the start of the Alley, after all.

He was pleased to note that when they approached Gringotts, two more Alleys split off of Diagon Alley and though he couldn't see much from where he was located, he could already see a furniture store and a baby boutique on one and a spa and fancy, upper class restaurant on the other. Maybe they just used Diagon Alley to get to the others? It seemed to be the main road but not the main location, if that made any sense, which to Louis it did.

Stepping up the steps of Gringotts, he marvelled at the white marble building before him. It was huge and polished, not a single crack in its framework despite the fact that it had, no doubt, withstood many wars. He supposed it was the wards, which he could feel brushing against his skin, tasting and accepting him as they hummed with pleasure. He had always been fascinated in wards, to know that there were so many different types, that focused on many different things, with many different sources of power, was unbelievable and here he was, at Gringotts, who were known for their superb, unmatched wards. It was astonishing and yet no one else seemed to appreciate it. Did they not know that these wards identified each and every single one of them, taking note of all who entered? Thinking about it, he supposed they didn't. It's not like the goblins would tell them. Speaking of goblins, he nodded politely to the two that were guarding the door (after reading the welcoming message/threat/challenge, of course) and pondered silently at their confused, surprised reactions. They tipped their heads back in acknowledgement after a brief pause and he looked oddly at Flitwick, who had chuckled at the exchange.

"What?" Louis asked, eyebrows knitted together. He had never met any goblins before, had never gone to a Gringotts branch. Shira had always paid for their trips when she came to visit and he had read all about the fascinating beings to supply him with knowledge should they ever have reason to go but he hadn't found a reason, hadn't gone. Shira always had her money ready. So he really didn't understand why exactly Flitwick was laughing at him. Had he done something wrong?

"It's nothing, Mr. Thompson. Most wizards wouldn't ever acknowledge a goblin, much less bow to one in greeting. It's just a bit different is all."

"I can't imagine why they wouldn't. They kindly handle our money after all. Plus they do have feelings. They're not emotionless aliens. Besides, different is good. Being normal all day would be tedious and boring." Flitwick just laughed and shook his head, continuing on.

The main hall of Gringotts was long and narrow, lined by high, connected desks with tellers sitting behind them. Many were counting stacks of coins, shuffling little pieces of papers. A few were scribbling down notes and organizing and examining jewels. About one or two heads turned in their direction but for the most part the goblins ignored their approach to the Head Goblin at the end of the lane. Waiting patiently behind a plain looking brunette, Louis chewed on his lip.

"Next," a monotoned voice said and Louis and Flitwick stepped forward. A goblin dressed in a dark purple waistcoat peered over his desk at them before focusing his gaze on Professor Flitwick.

"Muggleborn, Filius?" He asked and though the tone remained monotone, Louis caught a bit of affection in it. Perhaps Flitwick was familiar with the man? Friends, maybe?

"Yes, sir, Aodh. Orphan. We'd like to access the Hogwarts Trust, if you will."

"Very well then. Would you like to take the cart or just have it brought up?" The goblin said, knitting his clawed hands together in his patience.

Flitwick flashed Louis an apologetic smile. "Brought up, please. We're running rushed today and as you know, time is money."

Aodh gave a tight grin that brought out the harsh lines of his face. "Indeed. Griphook. Fetch a pile from Vault 63. Bring up one-seventh of it and make sure someone else places the rest in Vault 726 for Mr. . . ?"

"Louis Thompson." Flitwick supplied.

"For Mr. Louis Thompson." Aodh finished. Griphook, who had been standing a bit to the side behind the Head Goblin, gave a sharp nod before disappearing through a door behind him. Another goblin stepped forward and took his place.

Aodh reached down and grabbed something before placing it atop his desk. Louis was too short to tell what.

"Please give a drop of blood so that we may key you into your key. Just run your finger over the neck" Aodh said, sliding a small knife and small golden key over to the edge of his desk, where Louis could grab it. Pressing the tip of the blade into his pointer finger, he pricked the skin and watched as a little bead of crimson popped up. Running his finger over the key as Aodh suggested, Louis felt it warm up before going cold once more. He handed Aodh the knife back.

"Do not lose that key, Mr. Thompson. Should you lose it, a lengthy process will have to be undergone for you to gain access to your vault." The goblin warned.

"I won't. Thank you, sir." He relied and once again the goblin looked at him with a hint of surprise before nodding slowly.

"That key is to Vault 726, Mr. Thompson, which contains the standard amount of a Hogwarts Scholarship. That is precisely 1, 100 galleons. This is to cover all seven years of your education, young man, so spend wisely. You can take more out one year than the next if you wish it but that is entirely up to you. Should you find yourself not needing the scholarship anymore, just notify a goblin, preferably Fahim as he is in charge of the Hogwarts accounts, and they will sort it out with you. You are required to pay back three-quarters of the money you borrow." Seeing Louis's face, the goblin smirked. "Yes, the term scholarship is very misleading here, but I assure you, we've never had any problems with people paying it back. It usually only takes a year of work, since one also has to pay for the cost of living. Do you have any questions?" Shaking his head no, Louis stayed silent. The goblin nodded. "Very well then. Griphook should be here shortly. Please step to the side and wait for him. Thank you for your business today and it was a pleasure seeing you again, Filius."

"Likewise, Aodh, sir. May your gold always flow," Flitwick bowed his head.

Aodh smirked. "And your pockets always fill."  
Stepping to the side, Louis stood silently by Flitwick as they waited for Griphook to

return. There was so much that he had to do today and he was concerned as to what would become of him when Flitwick left. Where exactly was he sleeping the night, again? Flitwick hadn't said. But first, he had a great deal to buy. Books, robes, a wand, potion ingredients, a trunk, a backpack, casual clothes and nightwear, a cauldron, telescope, dragonhide gloves, potion making tools, herbology tools, parchment, ink, quills, quill care kit, toiletries, and so much more little things that he had never had before. School was expensive. Perhaps this was why Mark hadn't gone to university a few years ago? Louis could definitely empathize. Unfortunately for him he didn't really have a choice. He kind of had to go if he wanted to control his magic better, to expand upon it.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Louis saw Griphook slip back through the back door with a small brown pouch in his hand. Walking towards them, he handed it over to Louis, who thanked him quietly.

"You're welcome, Mr. Thompson. Now you have exactly 158 galleons in there, we rounded up for convenience sakes. Is there anything else you need?" Receiving a negative from Professor Flitwick, the goblin continued. "Very well. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Thompson. Have a good day and may your gold always flow."

Repeating what Flitwick had said earlier, the two left and slipped out of the bank, now with pockets laden with money (or in his case, anyway).

"Well, Louis, where to first?"

 **A/N: I was going to keep going but I want to keep the chapters at relatively the same length and if I continued it would have gotten really long so next chapter is the actual shopping spree. Sanguini will be more involved too.**

 **Few questions for you guys to think on, I'd like your opinions:**

 **Should Harry get another pet? I'm thinking a kitten or owl? Thoughts?**

 **House? I'm leaning more towards one but I don't need it to set the story in stone so House isn't that important to how my story will play out. Whatever works. What do you guys want?**

 **Shall we be talking to Voldemort this year? Dark Harry? Voldemort plays a big part with Harry and he can be active in this story or not so much (like canon). Again, it doesn't matter. Just what you prefer.**

 **Thanks for reading guys and I hope I get some answers. I would love to have readers involved in some of the making. If you don't want to (or don't care) that's cool, though I'd love a simple "Please continue" haha.**

 **Please review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

They went to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions first after Louis informed Professor Flitwick that he'd want to explore the bookstore a bit.

Madam Malkin's was a larger than first appeared kind of store. While it looked to be somewhat large and narrow on the outside, the moment he stepped in Louis could very well feel the space expansion charms. The shop was massive. With secondhand robes in the right corner, dressing rooms lining the back halls, measuring stations and mirrors placed in a semicircle in the center, dress robes and dresses lining a good portion of the left side, a variety of cloths hanging from a rack on his right, shoes to the left of the door, undergarments and lingerie on the opposite side, and many racks that lingered in between, the store was quite well stocked. They seemed to have a bit of everything and while at a glance there wasn't too much of a variety in each section, he knew by glancing at the checkout counter to his right that they had customizable option in their catalogs. Just fill out a form or book an appointment and you were set. He felt a grin stretch onto his face (though he quickly wiped it away). He would definitely be coming back here if he had any say in the matter.

"Alright, Louis, you head on over to those ladies and I will go and collect your supplies for potions and herbology from the apothecary, though make sure to get your dragonhide gloves while you're here. Better quality." Flitwick said with a nod to the measuring stands in the center, where a young boy with dirt brown hair was being measured by a pale boy with blonde hair. A stand over was a girl with black hair being measured by a thin woman with equally dark hair. Nodding to the smaller man, Louis headed on over to the only other person in the section: a plump, kindly looking older woman. He briefly registered the sound of the door chiming out.

"Hogwarts dear? Well, step on up." She said with a polite smile, though it seemed a bit forced. She was no doubt a bit stressed and tired from the influx of students at this time of year. He imagined it to be quite the work load. Still, the incoming hauls of profit must be good or she wouldn't still be here. Tossing a quick smile, he stepped on up and stayed still as she threw a black robe over his shoulders before getting to work with her wand and measuring tape.

"Are you a first year as well?" The girl to his left asked him and he nodded back, eyeing her face. He didn't really want to talk to anyone, Louis had never been fond of socializing, but he supposed that if she persisted he could entertain her for a bit. "I'm Pansy Parkinson and you are?"

Well she seemed polite enough. "Louis. Louis Thompson. Nice to meet you."

The girl, Pansy, frowned. Her face scrunched up a bit and he couldn't help but be reminded of Aunt Marge's pug, Stroker. It wasn't a very flattering look. She should smile more often. She was quite pretty when she did so. Happier looking.

"Thompson? I've never heard of that last name here. Are you a pureblood?" Louis didn't ask her what she meant by here, he could guess well enough. She meant the Wizarding Society of Great Britain. A society where the elites were purebloods and though he knew that his real name, that Harry Potter, would be enough to cover up his blood status, Louis's would not and so instead of outright answering her question, he merely told her he was from France.

"France? You came all the way to France to study at Hogwarts?!" She seemed quite surprised by this and while he didn't feel as if he had any obligation to tell her anything, much less the truth, he still felt as if an explanation was in order.

"I use to live in Britain so my name's been down for a while, which is why I'm not going to Beauxbatons. I didn't live in Paris until I was seven, late seven at that."

This seemed to be enough for Pansy for she opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the woman at her feet.

"Alright dear, you're all set."

Pansy turned to him with an apologetic look. "Well it was nice meeting you, Mr. Thompson. I suppose I will be seeing you at Hogwarts?" Receiving a nod, she bid him goodbye.

While many would think that he had begun to make his first friend, Louis knew better. He knew the Parkinson family, had studied all of the known Death Eater families, and he knew that the second Pansy learned he was a "muggleborn" she would turn her nose up and look down at him, either because of her own beliefs or because it was expected. As such, he didn't let his hopes rise up at all. He knew what it was going to be like, he knew it was going to be challenging, but it was worth it. This whole thing was worth it. He couldn't be Harry Potter, not yet at least, and even then she most likely would end up shunning him. Couldn't associate with the Light's darling now could she?

He consoled himself by reminding himself that he didn't need friends. He had Sanguini and Shira (if he could even really call the vampire a friend) and that was more than enough for him. Getting close to people, trusting them., trusting your own foolish emotions, only got you hurt in the end. Hadn't the Dursley's taught him that? Yes, it was best if he stayed away, stayed alone. At least then everyone would be safe, him of all.

He would be better for it in the end.

* * *

When Flitwick returned to the robe shop, Louis had already been fitted and had begun browsing the racks, looking for items that he planned to come back for. He found many casual and formal robes that he liked, loving the idea of leaving behind the muggle world that had for so long been a constant reminder of how little he was. Sure, muggles had their technology and massive weapons but that was nothing to magic. Oh he acknowledged the threat that such things posed but he knew that if wizards played their cards right, they would never be discovered. Not really anyway. The muggle world didn't have the same air of amazement as the magical one did, however. They did have creatures that soared the heavens and breathed fire, didn't have potions to heal every ailment. They were limited in their possibilities, shackled by the chains of science and thought, where as magic held no such boundaries. With magic, anything was possible, even if they didn't know it yet. Louis for one believed that if one tried hard enough, they could make anything happen. He knew there were Rules and Laws and Theorems and Postulates in magic and he knew that they guided the way wizards thought and learned but he didn't think they were set in stone. It was merely a case of the right wizard not having had come along yet.

Louis wanted to be that wizard.

Besides robes, Louis had found a few pairs of shoes, some necessary garments, and a little bit of muggle clothes that hung on random racks. He knew that what he currently possessed wouldn't be enough for school, that others would notice how he had no nightwear and only had two outfits and one pair of shoes. While he didn't have enough funds for a needed shopping spree right now, he would make sure to go to Gringotts and let the goblins known of his true identity as soon as possible. They, at least, needed to know.

The next store they went to, while Madam Malkin was finishing up with his robes and such, was to get his trunk and backpack and any other needed luggage. Flitwick had recommended that they retrieve a standard issued trunk that had three compartments (all with expansion charms) and a featherweight charm applied to it, which Louis had agreed with after purchasing a plain grey, cloth backpack that was spelled to not only to expanded and weightless but also stain and tear resistant. They had also bought a smaller bag for toiletries per Flitwick's recommendation. Upon leaving the store, Louis put all of his items (including a shrunken trunk that Flitwick promised would be resized later) in his backpack, which he slung carefully over his shoulders so as not to hit Sanguini, who had stayed silent the whole trip, only hissing out every once in awhile little things he observed.

After that, they split up once more. Flitwick went to an office store to fetch parchments, quills, ink, and a care kit for him while Louis went to the bookstore, which he knew would be his favorite part of the whole trip. Flourish and Blotts was a rather tall store, filled to the brim with books that were messily organized around staircases in piles and on bookshelves that stretched for rows after rows. There were five floors in total with the first floor being the children's level, filled with picture books, small toys, and beginners guides. There was also a small section devoted to common pamphlets that was in a wide, magazine rack. They covered common things like an introduction to the wizarding world, gardening spells, charms for housework, and travel brochures. They were all thin and cheap, mostly just lists of recommendations for certain areas. It was basically an introduction, an index, to the whole store for it told you what levels to look at and everything. Grabbing a few, Louis idly flipped through them.

On the second floor were three sections. One was devoted for hair, beauty, and hygiene related books that spanned from hexes for stubborn blackheads to potions for oily hair to glamour charms. Another section covered household spells for both the inside and outside needs. They had much to do with cleaning, gardening, and cooking. He noticed most were herbology and charms books. The last section was on miscellaneous books for the common wizard. Here rested books on simple construction books to fix a shed to ones on how to properly paint with a wand to those on repelling insects to books that gave detailed instructions on making common holiday decorations. Many were based on transfiguration and charms, here. Louis grabbed a book on glamours (just in case) and Common Spells for the Everyday Witch and Wizard as well as one on hygiene; it would be interesting to see how many wizards brushed their teeth or braided their hair. He figured he wouldn't be needing any of these until he was a bit older though so he didn't delve too deeply.

The third and fourth floor were devoted entirely to the Hogwarts subjects and a few beyond. Books that covered basic to advanced study of transfiguration, charms, herbology, potions, ancient runes, arithmancy, divination, history of magic, magical creatures (and the care of them), defensive magic, dark arts, mind arts, astronomy, healing, warding, alchemy, muggles, elemental magic, and a few others were crammed onto bookshelves that filled the entirety of the two floors, leaving just enough space for a few people to walk between them. Naturally, some subjects held more books than others. For example, transfiguration had at the very least three, huge bookshelves to itself whereas only two shelves were filled with Dark Arts and Mind Arts books and even then those books were mostly for beginners. Louis made sure to grab at the very least two of everything while he was up there. He wanted to learn it all.

The fifth and final floor of the store was divided into only two parts. One side was fiction books, ranging from muggle bestsellers to new wizard novels. Louis didn't grab any of these, thinking that he already had plenty to read for enjoyment and that if the fancy struck him he would come back for more later. The other side was devoted to adult books, all fiction and/or erotica. He did not stay over there for very long. One book had some quite detailed pictures. Blushing somewhat (thank god he could control his own skin tones. He did not want to look like a tomato!), Louis went back downstairs (there were a lot of steps. Merlin he needed to workout!) and stepped up to the counter at the far right of the building. He had already noticed Professor Flitwick waiting patiently for him, though the man had a rather large tomb on Charms (if he read the title correctly) sitting in his lap. Feeling a bit guilty for making him wait, Louis paid quickly and had the man shrink his bag down to place them neatly in his backpack.

"All finished up, Mr. Thompson?" Flitwick asked with a knowing smirk on his face, an amused glint in his eyes. Smiling sheepishly, Louis nodded.

"There's just so many, sir!" Louis had read many books within the last couple of years, many on magic in the last year, and while he definitely knew more than he should, he knew there was a lot out there and he wanted to learn it all, master it all. He was a wizard and he wanted to use that gift to it's maximum potential. Why shouldn't he? He had the power to do it, certainly. The only thing that could hold him back was himself and he'd be damned if he was the cause of his own failures and shortcomings. It was just simply unbecoming of him, of any good wizard, he thought.

Flitwick chuckled. "I understand, Louis. I myself devoured as much as I could in my youth, still do in fact." Here he nodded down to the book in his pocket, which he had shrunk to place in but was still peaking out somewhat. "You'd fit in quite well with my Ravenclaws, Louis. We'd be glad to have you."

Smiling his thanks, Louis and the professor made there way out onto the street and down the Alley. Checking the time, Flitwick exclaimed with a surprised little gasp that it was a little late for lunch but they would stop nonetheless so the two wizards ate at a simple looking cafe that served fish and chips and milkshakes. Louis himself got a hamburger and fries while the professor preferred the traditional dish (it was the special for the day anyway). They both got tall, chocolate milkshakes. Flitwick paid for the whole meal with a wink. Throughout the meal, the professor continued to tell him all about Hogwarts. He explained the Houses a bit more, about how dormitories and points worked, as well as giving a few hints of some unknown places like secret corridors that no one ever checked and the best spots to study in the library. He told him of the ghosts and where they currently resided as well as their common company ("The Bloody Baron may be Slytherin's ghost but he doesn't really like anyone at all,"). Flitwick even explained the teachers he would have that year, giving out some tips for their classes and how to get on their good side. Louis was pretty sure Professor Snape would hate him regardless no matter what he did so he decided to just study his potion books really hard. (Not that he minded. He actually liked the subject.)

"Where are we going now, sir?" He asked once they finished, bellies full and feet heavy but faces light and happy. Louis had never eaten so much before. He was always careful to eat just a little more than usual when he went out with Shira, knowing his stomach couldn't handle it due to the stark difference in his usual meals, but he had forgotten himself and eaten without thinking. He knew he would be regretting it later, when his stomach would be turning and he'd be vomiting it all back up into a toilet bowl. Naturally, he didn't tell Flitwick that when the man asked him if he had liked his meal. It had been good, after all. It wouldn't be the second time though.

"We'll fetch your wand next and then get you a pet. Every wizard needs a little friend, Mr. Thompson. It'll do you some good." He added the last part upon seeing Louis's doubtful face. "After that, I'll be taking my leave. You, however, will be spending the rest of your summer at the Leaky Cauldron. No sense going all the way back to France when you'll be coming back in a month."

"But sir, I don't have nearly enough money to cover that!" Louis protested, eyes wide in exasperation. Honestly, he was an orphan what did these people think? It wasn't like he had a trust fund full of gold to throw about!  
"Not to worry, young man. Your stay has already been provided for by the school. Free of charge of course as were are the ones to have made the decision and not yourself." Seeing that he wouldn't be winning this anyway, Louis merely nodded meekly and kept his gaze on his tattered shoes.

It wasn't like he wasn't grateful for the chance. He wanted nothing more than to stay and explore the Alley and it's limbs. There were so many stores, so many books, and so many things to buy and explore that he relished in the knowledge that he had the time to do so. But it was the simple fact that someone else was paying for it, someone he couldn't even payback for he didn't even know who was really paying it. He hated being dependent on others, hated having to owe them. He didn't want to be supplied by adults with warm grins and easy pockets full of gold. He didn't want to have others wrap up his wounds and bring him breakfast and make his bed. He had been providing for himself for a long time. Sure, Sarah and the other Matron were in charge of their well being but they didn't, couldn't, provide for much and Louis knew that they tried their hardest for them, but it was he thought brought in a lot of the food, he who made sure he didn't freeze to death in the winter, he who protected the smaller boys from some stupid thugs with egos. He had learn to fight for himself, to only count on himself, and to suddenly have someone supply him with something, even if it was just a room for a month, was nerve wracking. He hated it.

Arriving at Ollivanders, where Flitwick stood outside by the door at, claiming this was an experience for himself, Louis took in the seemingly empty surroundings and breathed in a deep sigh. Magic was practically purring in the air, brushing up against his legs and tasting his aura. Thin boxes lined the walls and rested on shelves all around him and he felt a warmth pool in his stomach. Now this was magic. This was power. This was real skill. To be able to not only master a wand but to craft them . . . .

It was unbelievable. He could tell that by simply standing there.

"Ah Mr. Potter. I can't say I'm surprised to be seeing you, though your face is a bit different than one would have thought it would be. No matter." A wisened old voice said from his right and Lou- _no, this man knew his name, Harry_ spun around and faced a man with large, hazy eyes that blinked at him from a wrinkled face.

"How do you . . . ?" Harry trailed off uncertainly, eyeing the man as a slow, gentle smile graced his lips.

"Fear not, Mr. Potter. You're secret is safe with me. Let's just say I have a rather . . . unique ability to know who I am speaking to. Perhaps I will tell you about it one day. Hmm . . . yes I think I will." Harry remained silent, not sure on how he was to respond. Ollivander didn't seem to mind this as he continued to stare at him in the quiet of his shop for a couple of minutes.

Suddenly, the old man snapped to attention, clapping his hands loudly. Making his way over to the shelves, where he began rummaging through some wands aimlessly, he said, "Now, which is your wand hand?"

"Er . . . well, I'm ambidextrous, sir." Harry had learned that the only way he was going to finish his homework at the Dursley's was if he could write with both hands. They had broken his main one a few times for him to trudge through his own self-lessons.

"Really?" Ollivander paused in what he was doing to peer at Harry curiously before returning to his task. "Quite interesting. Not many could claim such a thing. No matter, just broadens and shortens our search."

As the man spoke, a tape measurer rose up from the man's counter and began to stretch itself out, measuring the length of Harry's arms and legs, even his waist and head. "Now, the first thing you must know, Mr. Potter, is that every wand is an individual and completely unique from any other. The wand chooses the wizard, remember that. Here at Ollivanders, I use a variety of woods and lengths and wand cores to discover the perfect match for both you and the wand itself. Every pair is powerful in and of itself, Mr. Potter, and makes a formable team. I use oaks for the stubborn, unicorn for the loyal, and eleven inches for the strong. You will find wands here made of yew, ebony, holly, maple, oak, sassafras, and more. Wands with cores of dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, unicorn tail, and, if you're extremely lucky, something else that I rarely ever use. Lengths will range from 5 ½ inches to a little over 14. Now," here Ollivander clapped once more and the tape measure fell to the ground with a thud, seemingly forgotten, Harry eyed it warily before meeting the man's gaze. It really was a creepy stare.

"Let's see what we have for you." Ollivander pulled out a purple box with gold lining and opened it up to reveal a short wand. Handing it to the boy, the man said "Eight inches, beech wood, phoenix feather. Go on, give it a wave,"

Despite the many lessons in magic, Harry had never used a wand before and he felt awkward holding one in his hand. He had always used wandless magic and to feel his magic running freely from his body, shaping and bending and curling was truly exciting. It felt a little restraining to be focusing it into the wand, as if he were trying to squeeze a large piece of paper into a thin tube. Nonetheless, he flicked his wrist and fliched violently as a glass vase shattered. Ollivander's eyes widened a bit in shock (really, it had exploded) before snatching the wand away and replacing it with another.

"Cypress and unicorn hair. 12 inches." Giving it another flick, many boxes fell clear off the shelf in a miraculous wave, crashing to the floor with a loud thump. Ollivander quickly grabbed that wand and hastily tucked it inside it's box before sliding another one into Harry's hands. "Copaiba. 11 inches. Unicorn hair." This wand gave a hiss and Harry's finger split open. Waving his wand, Ollivander cleared the cut away and replaced the copaiba wand with another. "Hazel and phoenix tail feather. 10 inches."

And on it went, with Harry trying many, many wands with little to no success. "Olive. Dragon Heartstring. 10 ½ inches." Nope.

"Willow. Phoenix tail feather. 12 ⅗ inches." Not quite.

"Sequoia and unicorn hair. 13 inches." He cut his hand open this time.

"Palm. Dragon heartstring. 9 inches." His palm warmed up but the wand clattered to the ground when it warmed up just a bit too much.

"Redwood, 11 inches. Unicorn hair." Really didn't help the burns on his palm. Thankfully, Ollivander noticed them this time and healed them away again.

"Cherry. Phoenix tail feather. 14 inches." Well it was better than the others but still not right.

"Oak, 7 ¾ inches. Phoenix tail feather." Not even close.

"Birch, dragon heartstring, 12 ¼ inches." Well he tried.

"Bamboo. Unicorn hair. 13 ½ inches." Honestly, what were these wands made of?

"Apple. Unicorn hair. 8 ⅗ inches." Did he even need to say it?

"Ash. Phoenix tail feather. 14 inches." Just . . . . No.

"Rowan. Thunderbird tail feather. 13 inches." Well at least it was a bit different.

"Holly. Veela hair strand. 12 inches." Veela. Really? Wow.

"Larch. Runespoor venom. 7 inches." Pfft. Not even worth a description.

As the pile of wands continued to grow and grow, Harry felt his patience wain and his temper increase. All he wanted was a damn wand! Was that so hard to ask for?! Ollivander, on the other hand, was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Harry swore he was going to explode into a rain of multi-colored glitter and kittens with pastel bows any second. It was quite disgusting if he said so himself.

Which he did.

Carrying a wand from the back of one of his shelves and muttering to himself, Ollivander slid over a red box and peered closely at him.

"Holly. 11 inches. Phoenix tail feather." Again, Harry wrapped his fingers around the wand. A slight buzz purred from it, brushing against his cool palm, and while there was something about it that felt right, he knew the wand wasn't for him. He slid the empty box back over to the older man and explained what he felt.

Ollivander had a shaky grin on his face. "My, you are a difficult customer aren't you, Mr. Potter? It seems that the core is trying to bond with you and isn't quite succeeding whereas the rest of the wand just isn't working at all. Follow me." Without even waiting for a reply, Ollivander spun on his heel and quickly disappeared into the back of the store. Blinking, Harry jogged to catch up with the man and was surprised to find himself in a workroom of sorts.

There were jars and glass cabinets everywhere. Metal drawers and metal rulers covered a table that had many pieces of parchment on it alongside some quills and muggle pens, sketching upon the papers. Ollivander busied himself with pulling out various drawers and random and clutching several sticks of wood to his chest from each, muttering to himself once more, before putting all but one back in. He repeated this process many times and once he held a worthy amount, he laid them down upon his table.

"Now, I want you to have you hand hover over each of these pieces of wood and whichever one calls out to you the most, I want you to hand to me. Understand?" Nodding, Harry looked at the table. "Good. Have at it then."

Stepping forward just a bit, Harry gazed at the 14 different sticks of wood. They ranged from many different lengths and colors to conditions. Some looked dark and brittle and short others were pale, long, and smooth. One had twigs still poking out of it and another was delicately carved with runes. Making sure not to touch them, Harry ran his palm above the woods and waited.

As his hand was hovering over a soft, red piece of wood, he felt his palm heat up comfortingly. It tickled his skin, nibbling at his fingertips and brushing up against calluses. He picked the thin, plain rod up and handed it over to Ollivander, who had been lurking silently in a corner, watching.

Taking it into his hands, Ollivander ran his eyes along the wood, feeling it and examining. He lifted it up to his ear and after a few seconds, hummed contentedly.

"Redwood. Sequoia. Perfect for elemental magic and healing. A bit of kinship with charms. Disciplined. A very . . . balanced wood. Quite fitting, I think." The older man explained after another moment in relaxed silence. Harry gave a nod without thinking. Yes, he could see how that would work with him.

"Now onto cores." Ollivander exclaimed, reaching out to the shelves to his left where a bunch of glass jars rested. He opened many of them, one at a time though bringing a selected core to the table where he placed it down gently, the glass jars resting close by for easy access but not too close to interfere.

On the table rested about five cores. One was dark and inky looking, dripping little charcoal drops onto the table. Next to it was a long, gray feather that curved into itself with a soft bend. Besides that feather was two more feathers. One was a thick white one that looked stiff and sleek, the other was a goldish-orange and radiated a bright light. Then there was a thin green strand that looked liked hair but was too much like grass to be such. Then came three glass vials of different shades. One was a dark purple, another a dark green, and the last a pale silver. Casting a look at Ollivander and receiving a nod, he proceeded to repeat the process he had done with the woods and hovered his hand above them. It settled over the last item. The silver liquid. He handed it to the wandmaker.

"Werewolf venom. Ironic isn't it that werewolves cannot have silver in contact with their saliva and yet their very venom is silver?" Ollivander huffed a laugh and grabbed the vial from Harry's hand.

"Werewolves are known as shapeshifters in our world, Mr. Potter. A very fitting core indeed." He pointedly looked at Harry's hair. Harry fought off a blush. (Again, he was so thankful for his gift.)

Ollivander cleared away the wand cores, neatly placing them back into their jars, humming to himself a tune that Harry did not recognize. Once finished, he brought the redwood piece and werewolf venom to the table before placing the holly wand next to them. There was a distinct buzz in the air.

"What I will be doing, Mr. Potter, is removing the phoenix tail feather from this wand," He tapped the holly wand "coating it with the venom," he slid the glass vial closer to the wand "and "bonding" them with the redwood." He slid the wood over. "This will take me sometime and while I don't mind your company at all, a magician never reveals his secrets." He threw Harry a wink when the boy scoffed. Funny, Ollivander. Real funny. "Therefore, I must ask you to return in an hour."

"That's fine. Thank you, sir, and I'm sorry for this much trouble." Harry said softly, allowing Ollivander to lead him back into the main section of the wand shop. Harry noticed Flitwick was reading his book again outside. Oops.

Ollivander laughed merrily. "Nonsense, young man. This is the most interesting part for wandmakers. I assure you, I find this to be great fun. It will be a pleasure making your wand. Now," here, Ollivander's voice was lowered down to a whisper as they made their way to the door. "Don't worry about your secret. I won't tell a soul."

Making his way out of the shop, Flitwick jumped at the sound of the overhead bell jingling.

"Ah, all finished up now, Louis?" The man asked, straightening his robes and slipping the now shrunken book back into his pocket. He shook his head.

"Ollivander has to tweak the wand a little for it to better fit me. He asked if we could come back in an hour."

Flitwick's eyes were wide at Louis's words but he shook himself and continued, somewhat shakily, anyway. "I-I see . . . . Well, that's no problem. We can get your pet while we wait!"

* * *

Louis decided he rather liked the pet shop, though it was a bit depressing to see all the creatures in cages. He personally knew how confining that was and how isolated it made one feel.

There were many owls in the store. Quite a few flew overhead, making wide swoops and deep dipes and lazy circles in the air, while a good portion of their friends waited in a large corner, resting on rails and owl stands, some chirping excitedly, others hooting snappishly, and some just silent, cool as can be. Cats streaked past him, brushing against his leg and hissing at children with sticky fingers. Some cats were licking their paws on the tops of tanks, not at all bothered by the beasts within. A few were even resting on soft beds that were piled to the side. A couple of cats were housed together in something that resembled a muggle toddler's play pen, mewing up at people with bright eyes, ears twitching. Rats and mice danced and played by the counters, running and doing tricks are some raised wires. A little boy watched them in fascination, though his mother looked at them with barely concealed disgust, no doubt thinking about how dirty rats were. Colorful birds zoomed by, their plumage ruffled and feathers glittering as beautiful notes were thrilled. A monkey was throwing little pieces of kettle at adults and laughing merrily, completely ignoring the shop attendant below him. Louis laughed loudly when one such kettle hit Flitwick on the nose. Lining the far side wall were aquariums full of aquatic creatures. Some were fish that made elaborate shapes and flashed lights, but he couldn't identify what were in the other tanks, besides the frogs and toads that is. They were magical creatures no doubt. One looked like an extremely tiny mermaid, though it was more soft and playful than the one's he had read about so he (hoped) assumed that it was an actual one. From where he stood, he could make out tanks of various sizes in the back that held many snakes and a few spiders. Bunnies munching on leafy greens and extremely fast hamsters on wheels were to his left. All in all, the whole store was purely magical. There was no other word for it.

"How about you make your way around the shop, Louis, and see what fancies you? I'll be by the fish. Excellent charm manipulations those scales are," And so Flitwick disappeared to visit the fish while Louis stood by the checkout counter.

He raised a hand, placing it where he knew Sanguini's head to be, and hissed softly, so much so that no one but the animals could hear without enhanced senses, " _Where to, my friend?"_

" _If you even consider buying that oversized flea ball rat, I will not hesitate to eat it and strike you in your sleep."_ Laughing, Louis glanced down at the rabbits.

"Sorry guys," He smiled, teeth showing and eyes joyful. It felt nice to be here, to be in such a youthful place as a pet store, doing such a childish thing as purchasing a pet. He almost felt normal, like just another kid. Looking at his reflection in one of the nearby glass tanks though he was reminded of how false that was.

Since Sanguini didn't really give him an answer, Louis ventured out and just looked at everything. He stayed away from the snakes and the spiders though. For one, he already had a possessive and somewhat jealous snake. Two, he didn't fancy having a lengthy discussion with the reptiles. Especially not where anyone could be listening. Shira had warned him about the stigma related to parseltongue when he had found a book in parselscript and had read it easily enough to her and the shopkeeper's astonishment. He did not want to be hailed as a dark wizard yet, thank you very much.

He knew getting a rat/mouse/hamster and any other closely related animal would be pointless so he walked past those with only a fleeting glance in their direction. Sanguini had already threatened to eat them. Besides, he didn't really want one of those anyway. He doubted the monkey would willingly come to him any time soon (it seemed pretty content causing mischief by itself) so he mentally crossed that one off. Lizards were too similar to the snake. He didn't want a fish. Honestly what would he do with a fish? The birds were cool but they seemed a bit too excited for Louis's taste. They were too fast and rambunctious so he crossed those off too. In the end that left an owl or feline.

While the owls were beautiful, a snowy one in particular, he didn't see the point in buying one. There was no one for Louis to write to. He had no parents to ask for care packages or share his Sorting with. No siblings to entertain with stories or send merry wishes to. He didn't have any friends or concerned adults to contend with. Shira wouldn't mind an occasional letter but Flitwick had already told him there were school owls and he could borrow one of those or even a fellow student's at any time for that.

The decision was easy in the end, seeing as he really only had one choice. Making his way over to the cats, Louis poked Sanguini's underbelly through his jacket.

" _How do you feel about a cat, Sanguini?"_

" _If the hair ball scratches me I will inject so much venom into it that you won't even be able to find it's organs."_ Was his simple response. Nodding happily, Louis eyed the various pens and cages, looking around at the ones that were running amuck throughout the shop. There was nothing that stood out to him. Sure, the tiny grey kittens were adorable but Sanguini would probably try to eat them too when he wasn't looking. He needed something special, or at least a bigger cat.

Looking at the one's in the right pen, Louis noticed they were kneazles, feeling their auras poking at his when he passed. A kneazle would be better than a simple cat . . .

That's when he saw her. In one of the larger cages was a tiny little feline that had black stripes and a white fur coat. It growled playfully at him before pouncing on the hand that he slipped through the bars, licking and nipping gently at his fingers. He laughed and ran them through it's fur. She was perfect.

Looking at the tag that had the phrase _Siberian Tiger_ written in purple script with a gold M in parentheses below it, Louis noted the price tag and winced. He couldn't afford that nor could he ask Professor Flitwick to buy her, despite the fact that he had already stated he would. Casting a regretful glance at the tiger cub, he turned away-

-only to run into said Charms professor.

"Find anything, Mr. Thompson?" The man chirped, twitching a bit on his feet. He seemed quite happy. Louis wondered if the man was always like that. Who could be this optimistic?

"Well," his eyes cut over to the tiger "yes but it's too expensive."

"Judging by your look, I'm assuming it's the tiger cub?" Nodding somewhat reluctantly, Louis eyed the professor as he stepped around him and checked the price. He whistled lowly.

"My that is a bit isn't it? Though she's been magically enhanced somehow so that might explain it," Here, Flitwick pointed at the golden M. The man hummed as he looked back up at Louis. "Tell you what, Mr. Thompson, we should have enough between us to pay for her. Why don't you pay for half and I pay the other half?"

"Oh I couldn't ask you to do that, sir, really it's alright-" Flitwick held up a hand.

"Nonsense, young man. It's fine. She's not that expensive, a pretty fair price in fact, so she wouldn't be putting a large dent in either of our pockets. Really, Louis, it's fine." Without waiting for a confirmation, Flitwick opened the cage door up and picked the cub up. She purred and snuggled into the small man's chest. "Fetch what she needs and meet me at the counter."

Twenty minutes later, Louis left the store with a siberian tiger on his shoulder, Sanguini hissing somewhat annoyed at having claws so close to his face. Flitwick was grinning broadly at having succeeded and Louis was wondering if the man should've been in Slytherin.

* * *

"13 ½ inches. Redwood. Phoenix tail feather and werewolf venom." Ollivander said as he slipped a black box over to Louis.

Louis peered down at the plain, simple wand in the box. It was thin, long, and smooth, devoid of any decoration save a few runes that he couldn't identify. The light red wood looked like a breath of fire, covered in smoke, and he wrapped shaky fingers around it's base, hoping that it wouldn't reject him, not after all that work the man put in it and time spent.

A fierce heat rushed up his arm, filling his bones and warming his skin. He felt it pool in his gut and burn his clothes. His hair felt like tiny licks of fire against his scalp and silver and gold sparks shot from the wand. In front of him, Ollivander clapped loudly.

"Ah bravo! Bravo!" Ollivander sighed happily, pushing the box back over for Louis to take. "That'll be nine galleons, young man."

Pulling out the aforementioned amount, he suddenly remembered the number of times he had seen Shira with her wand. "Mr. Ollivander do you have any wand holsters?"

"Certainly, Mr. Potter. I have ones for wrists, shoulders, thighs, and hips. They all come in either black, red, or dark green dragon skin. Which would you prefer?"

"I'd like one wrist holster in red and one thigh in green, please." Pulling a box out from underneath his counter-desk, Ollivander grabbed the two holsters and placed them on the countertop. "Anything else?"  
"No, sir, thank you."

"Alright then young man that'll bring your total to 11 galleons." Louis paid the price.

Before leaving the shop, Ollivander placed a hand on his shoulder. Louis tried to suppress the wince such an action brought him but judging by the sharpening of the man's gaze, he knew he failed.

"You be careful with that wand, Mr. Potter. It's very curious that those particular pieces chose you, especially the tail feather. I remember every wand I have ever sold, Mr. Potter, and the phoenix that gave away such a feather has only ever given another and what are the chances that the wand that holds that feather, your wand's brother, would be the one to have given you that scar you hide so well?" Ollivander peered seriously at him and hummed. "I expect great things from you, young man. Great indeed. After all, You-Know-Who did great things, terrible yes, but great."

Louis left the shop on shaky legs.

* * *

"I'm afraid this is where I leave you, Mr. Thompson. Now, you have your ticket, Tom here will allow you to Floo on over. Don't worry, he'll explain all of that to you. All your meals are paid for so you should be all set. I will be seeing you September 1st. It was a pleasure meeting you. Have a good rest of the summer and stay out of trouble."

It turns out that Louis would be staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the next month. He was, of course, quite pleased with this as it would allow him to venture out into the Alley and visit the goblin's again before school started. He'd have a great deal of time to continue his studies, completely immersed in a magical community, with no one to hide from or interrupt him.

Once Flitwick left, Louis turned to the older innkeeper and barman, Tom. He had graying hair and a kind, olden face with brown, worn slacks and a white tee with brown suspenders on his thin frame.

"Follow me, Mr. Thompson. I'll take you to your room." He had a tired voice, one that had withheld a great deal of time and age, but it wasn't sad or miserable. No, it seemed pretty content actually. Securing his bag on his shoulder with his hand, Louis followed the man upstairs, passing many portraits as they went. He saw many with waving distractedly at him, some had animals in their frames so he had a dog bark at him twice, and a few were nature landscapes with the grass being gently blown and with lightning streaks flashing in the sky.

They stopped at a black door on the right of the third floor. It had the number 27 written on it in thin silver. Tom pressed the tip of his wand to the handle, instructing Louis to do so as well, stating that the door would be keyed into his magical signature via wand and all he had to do was tap the door knob to get inside.

Louis walked in as Tom lingered in the doorway, hand on the knob. "Breakfast is at seven and is available until 10:30. Lunch is from 12 to 3:30. Dinner is 7 to 10:30. Most take their meals down stairs but room service is available. All you have to do is fold one of the order sheets with your requests -they'll be on the dresser- and it'll send itself down. I placed some of my grandson's old clothes in the drawers for you, Flitwick said he forget to tell you to pack some extra clothes. If you require any assistance, Mr. Thompson, don't hesitate to ask."

Thanking the kind man for helping him, Louis looked about his surroundings now that he was alone.

On the left side wall there was a single door with an oak desk and chair to it's right. To his right, there was a large glass window with the curtains moved apart, allowing light to stream in, and an armchair with grey cushions tucked in the corner, a small, round table next to it. In the center of the back wall was a bed (larger than any he had ever had) that had white sheets and a grey comforter with four blue pillows that had grey trims. A side table rested on the bed's left and a dresser on it's right. The room looked spacious enough that he wouldn't be bumping anything against the other.

Setting the siberian tiger cub on the bed (he'd name her later), Louis let his bag fall to the floor and took off his coat, placing it on the bed also. Sanguini slid down his arm and coiled up, releasing a relaxed hissed purr. The snake jumped (jumped?) in surprise when the little feline wrapped herself around him, snuggling the creature, before giving a yawn and closing her eyes. She looked to be asleep in seconds.

Louis laughed. _"Watch her, Sanguini. I'm going to take a shower before dinner."_ Ignoring the snake's hissed grumbles of stupid furballs and obnoxious brats, Louis slipped into the bathroom. He was pleased to note that they had fresh, large white towels and complimentary shampoos and such. He made sure to take a really long, hot shower, content at not having to rush or use sparingly for others. He could feel his muscles relax and breathe.

That night, he went to bed with a snake by his head, a tiger at his stomach, and a small smile on his lips. He did not have nightmares and for the first time in a long time, Louis felt okay.

 **A/N: Hey thanks for all the reviews and for reading!**

 **Some notes for the story:**

 **Updates: I update whenever I have the time to write a chapter. I'm in my first year of college and classes are picking up so I have a lot to do but I do make time for this. I should update at the very least once a week but if life gets in the way then oh well. I don't have a set schedule but I do have the plot already outlined so while I don't have dates ready for you or promises for when the next chapter will be, I DO have a next chapter haha. This will not be abandoned and if by some chance It does end up falling out, I will make sure everyone knows that ahead of time so I can tie up the laces enough to provide answers. So before anyone else asks, no I can't tell you when the next update will be. Sorry.**

 **It seems you guys prefer Grey Harry, which is perfect for the direction I'm going in so that's a guarantee. It was basically already planned anyway haha I just figured I'd ask if you wanted something darker.**

 **As for House, I'd still like some opinions as that's coming up soon. It won't affect who his friends are (just trust me on that) so anything goes.**

 **In terms of Voldemort, all I will say is that I plan on having multiple stories following this universe. Hopefully that works out for me and you guys by extension. Voldemort will be somewhat in the picture during this story, not a lot, but more so than he is in canon. You'll see. He will be playing a larger role later on though. That doesn't mean Harry's going to be a Death Eater though so don't think that. I have intentions for him being a Death Eater.**

 **Dumbledore. Well . . . . I don't really have an opinion on Dumbledore though for a certain reviewer I will have some negativity for him. We'll see the good and the bad. Harry will be no one's lamb or pawn.**

 **Now for pairings. As I've said, I plan on this being a long series of stories. There won't be any for the first year, he's too young for that, but starting second year we'll see a bit of romance (not much though since he's only 12). I plan on exploring the metamorphagus part of Harry. There will be MANY pairings, many of which will not be serious relationships. We will have heterosexual couples, homosexual couples, asexual couples, gender fluid (I know that's not a relationship but I figured I'd point out that that'll be here). . . . I will have a great deal in this story. Harry's a metamorphagus and as such his body is capable of anything and he's going to explore that. Who wouldn't? So if that offends anyone you can stop reading but trust me when I say that, for the most part, romance isn't the main focus at all. At least not for a while. It really won't be a bother, I assure you. I'll have warnings up when the time comes so you can skip over it if you want and still be able to continue.**

 **There will be some questionable friendships and such though. And they are key to the story. You might be surprised by some but trust me, even if it's working then, doesn't guarantee anything. Literally nothing is set in stone here haha.**

 **Other than that I think I covered everything mentioned by your reviews! Any more questions and I'll see what I can do. No real spoilers guys haha. Gosh, that was a long author's note. Never doing that again.**

 **Please review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **A/N: I usually don't do these at the start of a chapter but honestly I'm pretty annoyed so I'm going to do this first.**

 **I will only say this once and I do not want to hear anything else on this subject ever again: Yes, Harry has moments where he is sad. Yes, Harry was abused. Yes, he has bad memories and scars and has bad reactions to things as a result, but, BUT, none of this makes him fucking emo. He is not emo. He is not so tragically abused that he can't function. The abuse is not his whole life. He is not drowning in self pity. You want to snark at me for "going too far" and for having him "act and be emo", which isn't a proper adjective cunt waffles, like really? You know what, yes there are hints in the chapters that repeatedly refer to the abuse and his emotions but he's like that because he's FUCKING HUMAN. He's allowed to feel and be depressed at times and flinch when unexpectedly touched. It's what I do! What a lot of people do! Don't you** _ **dare**_ **harass me for it. You don't like that then don't read this damn story because I'm sorry he's** _ **human**_ **. But before you leave me a review, criticizing the things I've written, actually read the chapters because this isn't about abuse, that's a part of the story, but it's not the focus point. You'd notice that if you actually slung the words together like an intelligent creature.**

 **Ugh. I'm sorry. I'm really frustrated.**

 **Thanks to everyone else who gave constructive criticism and their opinions and just general compliments. Those compliments really make my day, you have no idea.**

 **On a side note, just to clarify for a reviewer, I will not be labeling Harry as bisexual because in the way I'm going to use that side of fanfictions isn't really about the relationship. It's going to be a bit crazy. Anyone that's focusing on pairing right now all I have to say is don't. That won't be happening in this fic. Not now. Romance isn't until later on, when he's older, and this fic will only be covering first year.**

 **Oh and just because Harry didn't get Hedwig doesn't mean she's not coming in later! I love her too much not to include her haha. He'll be needing her, you'll see ;).**

 **Now, I'm done. Comments over. Please enjoy.**

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not amused. No, he wasn't even close. He was actually quite angry.

Ever since Minerva had burst inside his office, shrieking about how Harry Potter's name wasn't written down for Hogwarts, he had been stressed. He had almost immediately contacted the key players of the old Order. While he had Minerva explain the situation to them and kept them calm, he had Apparated directly to the Dursley's household of one Number Four Privet Drive. Imagine his surprised to note that Harry Potter was not where he had left him all those years ago. The boy was not there, not where the blood wards had been crafted. He was gone and according to the Dursley's had been since he was seven and they didn't know where the brat was, that he had just disappeared during a shopping trip. He had searched their surface thoughts and knew they were telling the truth, the boy had been detached from his family during a shopping trip, and when he ranted and waved, asking them why they hadn't reported him missing, that it was almost like they didn't even care, they had snarled at him and said they had wanted nothing to do with the freak in the first place. They weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. No sir. And so Harry Potter was officially missing with no clues as to where the boy could be. Using the muggle's memories, Dumbledore conquered and printed an image of the boy to put on flyers and in the Prophet. They had to find him.

Albus knew what he was putting the Potter heir into when he had left the boy on that cold doorstep with nothing but a blanket and letter. He had known the Dursley's were selfishly vain people with no sense of right and wrong. He had known Harry Potter would grow up unhappy, unloved. He had suspected neglect but he had not expected abuse. Abuse that came to light about a week into the investigation when inspecting the house of finding the green crayon scrawls of Harry's Room in the cupboard under the stairs and blood stains on the dingy floor. He had been surprised and a bit insulted, he should have seen that or at least have known about it. While he felt pity for the young boy, it must have been hard to grow up like that, he didn't necessarily think it a bad thing. In the end this would only leave the boy craving affection and acceptance, one that would flock to Albus when he rescued him and punish the boy's monsters. It was all for the best. For the Greater Good as he and Gellert had often proclaimed. Tragic, but helpful to him nonetheless.

When he returned to the Order he had immediately begun delegating tasks. Severus had been sent out to listen in for any mutterings from the darker side of the wizarding world to see if any of them knew something or were directly involved themselves. Arthur and Molly were to search for the boy out in the open. Alastor was sent off with a few of the more reckless and self obsessed aurors to use their resources to hunt the boy down. They were to find trails and follow them. Basically, for the most part, they all went Potter Searching. The whole wizarding world was out there searching for a little boy with black hair and green eyes and a lightning bolt scar. There was no way they wouldn't find him.

It had been at an inconvenient time though. Hogwarts was just around the corner, he and the other teachers were in the middle of preparing for the upcoming school year and this essentially tied their hands and took up their time that could be sent searching. He delegated some of the more key professors responsibilities onto those that could take them but it didn't cover everything. They were wasting a lot of time. Not only this though but it was also the fact that the world had been preparing for the day young Harry would return for many years now. They were drooling with anticipation and this was halting it, making them rowdy and loud and just a general annoyance to him. It was not helping matters whatsoever. This was the boy that their children had been raised to rever. The boy that stood as a beakon of hope to all who remembered the Dark Ages. The boy that little girls fawned over with innocent crushed and little boys pretended to be in their make believe games. The boy that everyone saw as a symbol for the end. He was more than just a survivor to these people, more than just a child that had somehow ended the Dark Lord's reign. This boy marked the end. It was the event in which he survived that showed there was hope. He had reminded people that there was still a chance, had filled their hearts up once again. People began to fight again, began to protect everything they had from the remaining Death Eaters, because this boy had reminded them that they could.

Harry Potter was more than just the Boy-Who-Lived to these people and for Albus to have technically lost the boy was a huge scorch mark in his reputation. It was not looking good.

With a sigh he returned to the papers before him, reading reports from the Order and the lesson plans of his teacher's at the same time.

 _Where are you, Harry Potter?_

* * *

If there was one thing Louis loved more than anything it was waffles. They were a simply food, one many families ate around the breakfast table in the mornings. He had cooked it countless times for the Dursley's and whenever Pe- _She_ had been in a particularly good mood, he had been allowed to have any extras (or to make one for himself if they had all been eaten, which was often the case considering the two Dursley men). When they had discarded him in France and he had been brought to the orphanage, he had found out early on that they would most likely never serve waffles there. It was a delicatesy and what they would spend on waffles could buy even more of say oatmeal or loafs of bread. They needed quantity, having to feed many mouths, not quality and so he would spend many mornings with his eyes shut, pretending that the lumps in his mouth were waffles and not the soggy oatmeal before him. He learned to savor rarities.

That morning though, on his second day in London, Tom had slid a white, glass plate over towards him at the bar. Three waffles were stacked upon each other. Seconds later, a small cup of syrup was placed before him as well as a bowl of strawberries and blueberries and a tall cup of milk. He hadn't had fresh food in a while, Shira's last visit had been over a month ago, and he wasn't quite sure his stomach could handle the rich meal. Nonetheless, he plowed forward. He would live in the moment and savor it while he could. If it came back up later than oh well. He'd have something small for lunch and/or dinner, depending upon the time. His knife slid easily through the soft waffles, clicking against the plate with a sharp, little rapt. They practically melted on his tongue, syrup dripping down his chin a little as it escaped from the fork and onto his lips. His fingers were sticky but he relished in it. This was it. This was what he lived for. Moments where nothing mattered, where the past and the present were erased only to be replaced by a seemingly pointless and unmemorable event. He loved the simplicity. Craved it.

It wouldn't last though. He knew this. The plate would eventually be empty. Time always ran down the hourglass. You couldn't really stop the sand from falling.

After breakfast, Louis traveled into the alley. Sanguini was curled around his wrist, hidden by the baggy sleeve of one of the everyday cloaks he had bought yesterday to blend in. On his shoulder was the tiger kitten, who he still hadn't named in all the excitement, her claws digging through his cloak and plain white tee, straight to his thin shoulder. Blue jeans covered his legs and a pair of old, ratty black Chuck Taylor's donned his feet. The shoes felt weird on his feet for in his haste to leave he had foregone socks. He was really regretting that decision but he didn't want to turn around and go back. He had already walked a bit before noticing. It would just be a waste of time.

His first stop that morning was Gringotts. When Shira had been teaching him pureblood customs and etiquette, they had reviewed the oldest families in Britain, France, Russia, Bulgaria, Germany, and Spain. They had focused mainly on families that could either be a threat or an ally to him, which was mostly composed of Dark and Grey families. He had learned of his family though. Shira had told him at the beginning, before they delved too deeply in for it to be a waste and to provide him a reason for the lesson's in the first place (despite just safety that is), that he had come from four of the oldest and most respected families in the world.

Before they had been known as Potter's, Louis's line had been the third of the Peverell line, which was coincedentally the main line. The Peverell name hadn't been used in quite a long time, the last ones to truly use it had been the three Peverell brother's. Louis had learned that the first brother had been murdered before he could carry the line on, moving the responsibility to the second brother. The second brother, though, had killed himself after the sudden loss of his lover. Before he had died though it had been learned that he had had a bastard son with one of the lower classed maidens early in his young adult life. The third brother had had two children, a son and a daughter, and since they were legitimite, the Peverell heirship was passed to his son and not his brother's. That son though had married a well known family at the time, only to bear a daughter. It was with him that the Peverell name had been lost. The line went through many surnames for many years, having produced many daughters and stillborns, until eventually Katherine Fischer married into the Potter line, where they stayed to this day. Not much else was known about the Peverell family, as they guarded their secrets very closely to his chest. The three brothers were the most famous, rumours claiming them to be the three in the Tale of the Three Brother's. It had not been proven to Louis yet though and so he didn't put any stock in it (though he was curious and silently hoped).

The Potter's had originated in Germany, the first Lord, Elias Potter, having been a simple man who had been great in finance and had saved enough money through his ancestor's businesses to get the Potter's a seat within Germany's government, matking the Potter's as a Noble House. From there they had only gone up. Elias had managed to run not only his grandfather's pub but had been able to develop his parent's dreams into a reality. Elias's father had always wanted to make his own alcohol, to brew it and sell it to his very patrons, and so the first form of firewhiskey had been developed within the heart of Germany and, as it would later be, would eventually stretch into many different forms and across the world. Through Elias, the Potter's had trademark on Firewhiskey and so any brew that held the name was required to give a small percentage of their profits over. Elias's mother on the other hand had loved flowers and so he had joined the many herbology shops, growing and selling both the seeds and grown products of magically enhanced plants and magical flowers and medical herbs. The business had blossomed quite well, festering throughout Germany and into Amsterdam, where they really flourished. It wasn't as big as firewhiskey of course, but it had been enough. By the end of Elias's life, the Potter's had the monetary means to become an Ancient House, which they would become in only a couple of generations. Generations who had continued Elias's work, stretching their businesses to other areas and adding onto the workloads and services with newer plants and different beverages, and even making their own businesses in turn or just simply saving their money from whatever jobs they would hold. Eventually, with all the franchising, the Potter's would leave Germany for England, coming right around the time of an industrial boom in the 1800's. There they had joined the Wizengamot and helped make the Ministry into what it is today and as they say, the rest is history.

Then came the Black's, who he was connected to by his godfather and grandmother. Shira had said the Black family was where he would have received the Metamorphagus gene, which would have been activated by the new blood his mother provided. The Black's, like the Malfoy's and Greengrass's, had originated and France and were a predominately Dark family (the Potter's were Grey). This didn't mean they were evil, as Shira had continued to stress in all her lessons. There is no good and evil, she had said. Our actions were influenced by our emotions and worldview. It was the intent that mattered with magic, nothing else. The Black's were only labeled as Dark because of their strong connection to the Olde Magick's and there blatant disregard to labels. They were an old family, slightly older than the Potter's though not as wealthy, and had gained their status through research. They held a great deal of scholars, which was no surprise since they studied every bit of magic with no bias. They had crafted some basic spells in their day, developed a few potions, created the current chart of basic runes, and discovered a number of magical sites around the world. They helped build upon the foundation of education and they were proud of it.

Shira had said that there was a third family the Potter's were the direct descendants

from and Louis found them to be his favorite. According to the Family Tree's and past observations (which he had seen through pictures and penesieve memories) of family rings and crests, one of the earlier Potter men had married a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, her many-times-great granddaughter. The Ravenclaw line was a very strong one, producing some of the sharpest minds in wizardkind. They were the brains beind some of the most common but complex potions out there, developed many charms including the Patronus Charm (that was a very late one though), not to mention Hogwarts. To Louis though the most noteable thing was that they had completely revolutionized the medical field of magic. They had created the medical ethics team for St. Mungo's and drafted common medical procedures that were now required to take place. They had enhanced work stations and even developed the spell chain used for amputations and reattatchment.

Knowing that one was the sole heir of four lines and acting like one were two completely different things. He knew that he wouldn't really have to worry about it while going by Louis but at the same time, what he did now would affect his image when the world learned the truth. They would remember some stereotypical muggleborn Louis and laugh at the Potter heir, scoffing at his ability and character. While this could be good, for they would underestimate him, he had no intention of looking like some kind of idiot. He wasn't going to go overboard with it at all, Louis was a poor orphan from the muggle world, but he wasn't going to be a laughing stock either.

And so his first stop was Gringott's where he hoped to speak to the goblins and do an inhereitance test, where he could then gain access to the Potter money. Hopefully his parents had set up a trust vault.

Walking back up the white marble steps and through the granite halls, he felt much like he did when he first walked through. The bank was lavish and beautiful, screaming of wealth and skill. Louis knew that the goblin's did all of their own construction and warding, not trusting wizard's to take care of any of their affairs. To be able to have a structure like Gringott's, and many of them all over the world at that, spoke a great deal about them.

He approasched the Head Goblin at the end of the line and cleared his throat, making sure to not do it too loudly. No sense in becoming an annoyance.

The goblin peered down at him, scanning his face for only a second before he saw recognition pass over it's face.

"Mr. Thompson, what can we be doing for you today? Not here to collect more money, I hope. It would be quite unwise." A sharp grin stretched across his face at these words, no doubt finding amusement in the shortcoming's of men, men who seemed to have the bad habits of spending a lot on nothing. Louis fought back a smirk.

"Not exactly, sir Aodh. I am here to ask for an inheritance test be done. If I am to be so bold, allow me to say that it will indeed be worth your time."

Aodh, who had straightened his spine upon hearing his name leave Louis's lips, narrowed his eyes at the boy, looking at him with concentration and a hint of curiosity, though Louis detected some suspicion in there as well.

The goblin nodded. "Very well then. Lele! Take Mr. Thompson to Alden."

A goblin that was taller than the others, though still short, approached the front desk and gave a curt "yes, sir!" before motioning for Louis to come around.

Louis followed Lele through a side door that had been hidden by a black curtain and down another hall, though this one glistened with jewels and clear stone. His reflection peered up at him from beneath his feet and he waved hi to it, watching as it mimicked him with it's own shaky fingers and sweaty palm.

He was lead into a decently sized office, painted in rich colors and decorated with a few swords and a painting of splashed colors. In the middle of the room there was a heavy, oak desk that had many stacks of folders and papers on it, all neatly arranged. Quills and muggle fountain pens were placed in a corner, either in or next to bottles of ink. Behind the desk, counting some gold coins and placing them into a small brown bag while making little notes, was an older goblin, who had a short beard and long, neat hair that was tied behind his head. A minute after they entered the goblin looked up, not at all surprised to see them. Louis suspected that the goblin had known as soon as they came that they were there, despite how silent the approach was as no noise had been made by either of them or the door, and had just made them wait. Louis didn't. The goblin was clearly busy. Time was money after all.

"Leave us." The goblin, who Louis assumed was Alden, said to the other goblin. His tone was smooth and velvety, rich with age and soft spoken enough to suggest wisdom. "Please sit Mister . . . ?"  
"You may know me as Louis Thompson for now, Sir Alden, sir." Louis said as he crossed the floor and placed himself into one of the forest green chairs that rested before the oak desk and the goblin. The goblin who merely hummed and folded his hands together, palms flat.

"Very well. What can I do for you today?"

"I would like to take an inheritance test first, if you please." Louis said, making sure to keep his tone polite and firm at the same time. The goblins were a warrior nation and valued strength. It would not do to be a meek little boy here. He needed their respect and so he made sure to not only bow to their ways but to give it to them in return.

Alden made a noise of acknowledgement before reaching down and opening a drawer of his desk. He brought out a stone bowl that was rough around the edges and a cold grey color. He also brought out a bundle of some sort that was made of a folded cloth of royal blue. Moving the folds and flattening it out, Louis saw a gleaming knife with a black and gold hilt. The blade was tinted dark red on soft silver. They were placed between the two of them, the knife closer to him than the bowl. He did not reach for it.

"This will cost you two galleons, Mr. Thompson." The goblin said neutrally, hands once again folded atop his desk. Louis reached into his cloak and pulled out his money bag, handing over the requested fee, before returning it to the inside (and charmed) pocket.

Alden pushed the bowl, and by default the knife, forward with a single finger as he explained. "This test will show us not only your bloodlines and any heirships you may be eligible for, but also any magical gifts you possess. These gifts can range from a mere affinity to herbology to any creature blood you may have within your system. There will be no surprises coming for you, Mr. Thompson, as they will all be revealed here." With that, Louis reached forward and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife. His other hand grasped the bowl, pulling it closer to the edge of the desk.

"You must slice open your palm and allow the blood to fall into the bowl. A bit of blood is required to get a full reading." Louis nodded and raised his hand over the bowl, not wanting to waste any blood or spill it onto the nice carpet below them. It was the only carpet he had seen in the whole bank and it looked really nice, like a fresh blanket of snow. Pressing the blade into his skin, he closed his hand around the blade, knowing the pressure would help not only rush the bloodflow but also prevent him from seeing it. Ignoring the slight pinch, he pressed down harder and began to drag it towards him. He did not stop when he saw a pool begin to seep past his fingertips or rise up the blade, not until he reached the end of his fingers that rested at the base of his hand. Squeezing it shut before releasing it, he watched as a great deal of crimson rushed and fell onto the stone bowl, easily filling it halfay. Once the blood flow slowed down and came to a relative halt, the bowl was almost full (he may have pressed down a bit too hard, Louis thought sheepishly) and Aden motioned for his hand, which he healed with a quick, muttered phrase. Handing over the bowl and dagger, he settled back in his chair and waited.

Alden muttered another phrase, not in latin or the goblin's own language but something older that sounded vaguely familiar, and the dagger was void of any blood. He rewrapped it in the blue cloth before placing it back in his desk, returning with a rolled up, long piece of parchment, which he flattened out between them.

His clawed hands wrapped gently around the stone bowl as he spoke. "With this blood, the magic in the parchment will be able to analyze the magic within. It will evaluate your blood and strip it bare to it's most basic elements, ultimately allowing it to read for any inheritances. It finds you at your most primal form. Obviously it's a very complicated process, much more than I'm detailing, but we don't have time for any science lessons. Now," Here, Alden lifted the bowl and tilted it slightly forward and Louis watched as the blood inched slowly to its edge before releasing a few drops of crimson that plopped down with a splat onto the paper. It took a second but soon the rest of the bowl was spilling forward with a rush and he watched, mesmerized, as the blood clotted together and formed a pool of deep red. It waited motionless, waiting for it's kin, and as the seconds ticked by in silence, Louis waited for something to happen.

Before his eyes, the blood twisted and curved in on itself, forming shapes and lines that held no meaning to him. It was warped and loopy, making letters but no words and in no stream of pattern. The blood seemed to be playing and dancing, and he realized with a start that this was the magic reading him, examining. Almost a minute after that though, the strands of red connected back into a single entity before slowly, excruciatingly so, spreading out and forming a single letter in neat, thin cursive. More and more strands of crimson were released, forming letters in bloody cursive, making words, forming names, and revealing secrets. He couldn't read it all but he caught a few names, presumably his ancestors, as a family tree was formed, a tree that covered quite a bit of generations, filling up almost the whole page. The only part of the parchment it didn't cover was the area beneath where the first drops had been released. Louis presumed that the placement had been done on purpose, that information was to be written there once found, once the tree was finished. It seemed he was correct for once the blood had reached the top of the parchment, it paused for a moment before strands were released from the original pool once more and began forming neat letters beneath it this time.

When it was finished, Alden muttered another phrase and turned to the bowl, which he repeated the same phrase he had used with the dagger, and it was cleaned of any remaining bits of blood. He returned this bowl to his desk drawer and then turned back to the long piece of parchment, now covered in dark red cursive and no blots of red. He lifted it up, taking any sight of what was on it from Louis, and presumably began to read what was on it. Louis watched the goblin's face, knowing at least some (if not all) of what he would find there. No emotions were expressed there, no flicks of surprise in his eyes or twitches of astonishment from his thin lips. Absolutely nothing. He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, even though he had been expecting this. Shira had told him all about the goblins after all, and she was quite knowledgeable being a centuries old vampire. Still. He wanted to surprise one, like really surprise one with something beyond politeness because that was just sad. He wanted a good surprise.

After a couple of minutes, the goblin placed the parchment back on his desk and placed a raised hand, with just the fingers touching, down onto the parchment and turned it so that it was facing Louis.

"Well, you are certainly something else, Mr. Thompson," Alden began, folding his hands back in front of him, an amused, thin grin stretching out to reveal sharp teeth, "or should I say Mr. Harry Potter?"

 **A/N: I was going to do all of the second shopping trip, but I want to hand this over to you guys and here seems like a good place to stop.**

 **Sorry for the wait. I got an idea for another story and started working on the mechanics of it. It's a Harry Potter and Avengers Crossover if any of you are interested. It's not out yet but if you're curious it's going to be Black Widow focused. Basically I'm having a Black Widow program in the magical world. I'm excited for it.**

 **Anyway . . .**

 **Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Alden tapped the tip of his long nail against the parchment. "Your results definitely explain things."

Flicking his eyes up, Louis hesitated to grab the parchment but eventually gave into the curiosity and slid it closer, looking down at the neatly written ink. He wouldn't prevent the inevitable. These were facts, plain and true, and no matter how much he avoided them, they would still be there. They would still exist.

 _Hadrian James Potter_

 _Born 31 July, 1980_

 _To_

 _Lilian Grace Potter nee Evans (deceased 31 October, 1981)and James Patrick Potter (deceased 31 October, 1981)_

 _Godfather: Sirius Orion Black (incarcerated 1 November, 1981)_

 _Godmother: Alice Maria Longbottom nee Proctor (admitted indefinitely to St. Mungos 4 November, 1981)_

 _Heirships_

 _Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter (direct, blood heir through father)_

 _Most Ancient and Noble House of Black (direct, blood heir through father and appointed through godfather)_

 _Most Ancient and Honourable House of Ravenclaw (direct, blood heir through father)_

 _Most Ancient and Honourable House of Peverell (direct, blood heir through father)_

 _House of Swine (appointed direct heir by previous Lord-deceased)_

 _House of Koufay (appointed direct heir by previous Lady- deceased)_

 _House of Jane (appointed indirect heir by previous Lord)_

 _Vaults_

 _Vault 23_

 _Vault 35_

 _Vault 3_

 _Vault 1_

 _Vault 275_

 _Vault 316_

 _Vault 708_

 _Vault 937_

 _Vault 912_

 _Vault 869_

 _Vault 687_

 _Vault 688_

 _Abilities_

 _Metamorphagus - traced through Black blood. Partial development. 100% access._

 _Parseltongue - traced through Peverell blood. Partial development. 100% access._

 _Wizard - unknown. 100% access._

 _Animagus - traced through magical ability. Form unknown._

 _Natural Healer - traced through magical ability. Partial development. 100% accessed._

Struggling to keep his face blank, Louis blinked slowly, allowing himself to focus more on the way his eyelashes felt against his cheek rather than the parchment in his hand. Swallowing, he placed it back on the desk and looked at the goblin.

"Can you explain all of this for me, Master Goblin?" While the title hadn't been used by the other goblin upon entry or even on a nameplate, Louis knew from his lessons with Shira that it took a great deal of trust and respect to be given this job. To know the individual secrets and capabilities of any magical being. He knew that this was one of the few jobs that held such a title and he felt the goblin deserved to at least have it acknowledged.

Pausing for but a moment, the goblin spun the paper back towards him and cleared his throat gruffly. "I believe the heirships are pretty self-explanatory. They were appointed to you be either family members or by people grateful for defeating the Dark Lord Voldemort. The same can be said for the vaults, Mr. Potter." Waiting for Louis to give a nod of understanding, the goblin continued. "Now, as for the abilities . . . . These are what your magic has gifted you, be it through your blood or directly herself. Fortunately, you have full access to each, which means you can do everything that is possible with them. The fact that they are underdeveloped means that you haven't quite managed to do so as of yet. For example, take metamorphagi. You clearly show proficiency in changing hair and eye color as well as height and skin tone but am I correct in assuming that you have never morphed yourself into, say, a female?"

Wide eyed, Louis shook his head quickly and viciously. "You can do that?!"

Alden chuckled. " _You_ can, yes. All this parchment says if that you have much to learn, not a bad thing at all."

Louis was silent for a moment before nodding slowly, cutting his gaze over to the goblin. "You know, you're oddly kind for a goblin."

Alden gave a toothy grin that contradicted his statement quite quickly. "And you're quite strange for a wizard. I have to work with children in here often, what's your excuse?"  
He raised an eyebrow. "Do I need one?"

The goblin gave a throaty laugh.

* * *

For the next couple of hours following his trip to the bank, Louis had gone down the little side alleys and gone shopping for extra things. He had neglected to go down to his vaults today, mainly because most of them wouldn't give him access until he was much older and had done something (like accept a Lordship). With instruction for Alden to merge the extra vaults into his trust vault (which was also a merged vault of what his parents and godfather had set up for him) as they didn't hold much in them, Louis had paid for a weightless, bottomless pouch that had a direct portal link to his trust vault. While it was definitely larger than most people had, he was determined to only get all of the things he needed and maybe a few extras. He wanted this money to last him awhile because while he had no intention of being a so called trust fund baby, he didn't want to be quick to spend. He had to play this smart.

So while he was shopping, he bought many things that he had not gotten yesterday. He bought fountain pens and more books on various subjects (including metamorphagi and parseltongue). He bought pants and t-shirts and socks and boxers and a new pair of shoes (or two) and even a jacket and a nice coat. He even bought a few cloaks to blend in better. He bought spare potion ingredients as well as some more introductory and intermediate books. He even grabbed a silver lined leather journal to write in. He bought items and toys for his new friend the tiger and a charmed rock that would always stay warm for Sanguini. He bought a set of daggers from a man down in Knockturn Alley(for self defense of course) and some books on the darker side.

All in all, Louis bought many things that he figured could last him quite a while but he was glad to make it back to the Leaky Cauldron, where he immediately dumped his items onto his room's floor, plopped on the bed, and fell asleep. He didn't even take off his shoes or notice Sanguini slide up his arm, coiling along his shoulder or the tiger cub purring next to his head, tail tucked between them.

* * *

For the longest of times, he had been alone. Slipping through lives as if it were butter. He had been invisible, unseen by the world and everyone in it. He had known pain and hatred. Had seen awful things, had experienced them. Life hadn't been kind to him, he knew that now. It had been particularly cruel.

His parents had been murdered when he was just one year old, barely old enough to even capture their faces and form the echo of their laughs. He couldn't remember them. Not even in his dreams. Not really. He had vague ideas but nothing concrete, nothing definite. They were faceless heroes who had until a few years ago had also been nameless. They had given their lives to protect him, to protect the boy that was the real cause behind their deaths. Shira had told him the truth, not hiding anything. She had told him of a prophecy, one that had labeled him as a potential threat to the Dark Lord, and it was this prophecy that had shoved his parents into a hidden little house, behind wards and delicate trust. It was he who the Dark Lord came to kill. He was the reason the chance was there to be taken. Now, he wasn't a selfish little fool. He wasn't stupid. His parents had been in a war, had been key fighters in it. A war that wasn't slowing down, just getting messier and bloodier. Odds are, his parents would have died anyway. They would have fallen in the heat of a battle by the hands of some twisted, skillful Death Eater. He knew this. He knew this. But that didn't stop the guilt. It didn't stop him from placing the blame upon his shoulders.

But if their passing wasn't enough, he had been placed into the hands of the Dursley's. Oh sure, on the outside they might have seemed like every other person. Full of faults but within reason. He knew better though. Aunt Petunia was just a bitter woman that liked to dress everything up to make herself feel better. They were not rich aristocrats that were high up within society and full of friends. Petunia had only one true friend and she came from her years at university, had been her roommate before she had dropped out. Petunia despised being second best and had married big, had gone after Vernon Dursley. Vernon who was just as ugly on the inside as he was on the outside and who had enough money from his parent's will and had a big future lined up for him that he would allow her to live more than comfortably. They loved each other, he knew that. They were perfect for each other, even, but that didn't mean they were good _for_ each other. They brought out the worst in each other and what made it even worse was that neither of them cared. They _reveled_ in it. Then came Dudley, who was the perfect blend of the both of them. A snot nosed little brat that felt liked he was owed the world. They were all pathetic in their own right. Petunia hated him for his ancestry, for who had given him his genes, for his magic. She was jealous and that always made her turn her head. Vernon hated him for being a nuisance, for destroying their perfect little family picture. He was nothing but a black smudge on their perfectly white image. He wasn't normal. Dudley hated him for being there, for taking time that should be allocated to him, but he also hated him simply because his parents did. Like father like son. Petunia gave him chores and lists and food to cook. Vernon gave him bruises and scars and nightmares. Dudley gave him taunts and cruel words and scrapes. They had tortured him.

How he despised them.

But then they left him and France had been the best thing for him, had been the dim light at the end of a tunnel. He didn't have the best arrangements, that was for sure. The weather was always against them and money and food was tight but he had known worst, he had seen the alternative, and so he sucked it up and pushed forward. He moved on because he had to. The people of France knew him as a thief, a deviant. He stole from their stands and little shops, begged people for scraps and spare change, and he always escaped their grasps, slipping through their fingers. He had to move streets every couple of days, had to walk out farther and farther to get somewhere new, to avoid detection and arrest but he did it because he had to. There were some at that orphanage that hated him, that used him as a punching bag when things got wrong or he got too involved or something equally stupid and worthless. There were some that he would gladly punish, children that he disliked, but he wouldn't let them starve. He never gave them the food directly, always passing it on to another group, but sometimes it reached them, sometimes they tasted the soft bread he had stolen that day or the rich apples, and he stayed silent, accepting their silent nods of thanks because even though they were stupid and mean, they were children. They didn't deserve to starve. He knew that now; the problem was accepting it for himself.

He had gone many days without food, both during and after the Dursley's, and he couldn't say that the hunger pangs and empty hollows of his stomach didn't bother him. He could count his ribs at times, could run his hands over the hipbones that jutted out quite profoundly against his skin. He could tell that he was starving and that he needed to eat but the others came first. He could take it but they didn't have to. He could wait another day or two. It wouldn't matter not really. Because while he knew he needed the food, he also knew that he was avoiding the food for any particular reason. He knew how long he could last, he knew his limit. He would eat before he even reached it and he felt that that made a difference. That all of this made a difference.

Walking down the halls of Gringotts, having had discussed the Vaults under his name with Alden, Louis knew that he didn't have to go back to that life. He could make it all better for both himself and those other children. He had already asked the goblin to donate a large sum to the orphanage and he wished he could see the Matron's face when a bank deposit was made to them all, could see Little Ally Ann with a new dress and Conner Yonts with a purely white, red stitched baseball. He wished he could be there for the first real meal that they would all receive, warm and rich but light enough to not make them sick. Wished he could be there when they put in air conditioning and a heater and something for the water system. He wished he could see their faces, their smiles and tears. He wished he could join them.

Because even though he knew the truth and Alden knew the truth, he couldn't be Harry Potter here. Not yet. He had already stopped the funds from the Hogwarts Scholarship, had already ordered for the return of the money he had spent, and while he had bought a little bit more, he knew he couldn't go crazy. He couldn't look like a pureblood heir. He was the orphaned muggleborn. The one on a loan. He had to play the part. He would try his best to look good doing it though and to have all the right books and such. And so he bought more books for himself and a bigger wardrobe, full of all the basics he had missed, he got himself new shoes, his own pairs, and he bought nice shampoos and lotions and conditioners because he wanted to be clean, wanted to be the cleanest he had ever been. He was starting new here. This was his second chance all over again. Louis Thompson would be a name that they reveled in the wizarding world but one that would be forgotten.

He would learn and grow and soon, soon, he would be ready.

He would be ready.

* * *

September 1st came fast and suddenly that he barely even noticed it. He wouldn't have even packed his trunk in time if not for Tom the barkeeper. That morning, after he had been showered and fed, Tom left quick instructions to his niece and apparated him to King's Cross, where he was lead to the platform of 9 ¾ before Tom had to return, bidding him a kind goodbye.

He had arrived a little early that morning, over an hour before departure time was set, and as such there were not a lot of people around. Two men dressed in darkly colored robes stood talking to the side of the train, not even turning to look at him, and a couple of teens were chatting together near a small section of parents, laughing and exchanging jokes. As it didn't look like anyone was on the train, Louis quietly went through a door and stepped on, climbing some steps. Having had learned the charms for resizing and lightening objects, Louis had no problem getting his trunk on the train. It was in his pocket after all and so he walked by many compartments, peering inside at each of them, all empty. The first few were clean and sharp looking, decorated in light grays and creams with smoothly crafted doors and clean windows. He assumed these were for teachers and the likes. Maybe special students. Next came sections of compartments, all were decorated in medium grays and neutral shades of various colors, mostly reds, blues, and browns, though some were plum. As he went deeper, they slowly got a bit more dark for by the end of it the compartments were dark colors that resembled black, like the night sky, and had curtains to block out any lights. These would be perfect for those seeking silence. Perfect for headaches and studying. Backtracking, Louis picked a compartment that was in the middle of the train, leaning towards the back a bit. Closing the door behind him he pulled out his wand and trunk and with a simple flick a muttered phrase, it was resized and he then levitated it to the racks above the seats, where it clattered down with a little jingle of metal. Smiling a little at the accomplishment, he sat himself down by the window and waited, watching the families that appeared.

The first one he saw was of a teenage girl with long blonde hair and her father. There was no mother. She had a red scarf tied around her neck and was smiling a smile of pink lips and rosy cheeks. She chatted happily with her father, who had a small smile also on his face and thin lips. Louis couldn't tell what they were saying, nor could he even imagine it, but if he had to guess it would be of inconsequential stuff and when another family appeared, walking right through the barrier, with a set of parents and an equally pretty teenage daughter, this one with warm, chocolate skin and big eyes, the girl gave her father a hug before running over to the other, who also bid her parents farewell, and ran to meet her in the middle. Best friends, he thought with a small tilt of his lips.

Next came two men with three boys, two that looked to be quite old, probably around 16, and the other one that looked about eight. The youngest had his hands clutching his brothers, laughter escaping his lips as they swung him between him, large grins plastered on their tan skin. They all had dark brown hair and gentle eyes and big smiles. They all looked happy and he watched as they continued to laugh and smile and play around, just enjoying each others company and the opportunity to do so, before flicking his eyes over to a new group.

This one was of a young boy in thin pants with tired eyes. His parents followed closely behind him with the mother's hand on his shoulder and they exchanged wary, small smiles that looked a bit shaky. They looked at everything with wide eyes, flicking about rapidly in a chance to look and capture everything. The trolley was forgotten as they looked about, walking slowly towards the train. He watched as they enveloped one another in their arms, forming a tight hug in a desperate attempt to never let go. They would miss one another, that was clear. He looked away.

Family after family came through, each dressed in various degrees of wealth and with various expressions and people. Some came with just one person, others with ten. Some wore grins, others teary faces, and a few with no expression at all. Some were dressed in simple pants and a sweater, others in elaborate and clearly expensive robes. It was ever so fascinating.

Looking away, deciding to take a break from his people watching, Louis rolled back the sleeve of his jumper to reveal Sanguini. The snake lifted his head, bobbing it a little, and tiredly flicked its tongue out, tasting and smelling the air. Louis quirked a smile.

" _We made it, Sanguini. We're going to Hogwarts."_

* * *

He was alone for the next two hours. Having had pulled out a book on transfiguration, Louis entertained himself in his solitude. After waking up Sanguini, the two had exchanged a short conversation, where Sanguini and him discussed the meal plans for the reptile. Louis knew from Hogwarts: A History that there was a kitchen somewhere but until he could find it, Sanguini was allowed to roam a section of the Forbidden Forest. There was no way in hell he was going to feed his friend any food from the tables. That was for sure.

About a quarter of the way through the eighth chapter, the door to his compartment was slid open and a pudgy boy with straight locks popped his head in. He danced from one foot to the other, biting his lip and staring at Louis nervously. Louis, figuring the kid was quite shy, raised an eyebrow and tried to give a kind smile.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Oh . . . um . . . you haven't seen a toad around here have you? He jumped out of my pocket and I lost him." The boy started to mumble towards the end of it and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Louis knew that while toads were one of the three pets allowed (officially anyway) they weren't very popular. Perhaps the boy didn't consider it "cool" to own a toad?

"I haven't but I can teach you a spell to have him come to you, if you'd like?" He offered, deciding that this boy looked like he needed cheering up and a bit of confidence.

The boy's cheeks reddened even more though as he began to stutter. "T-That's okay. I w-w-wouldn't be able to cast any spells. I'm not very good at magic . . . everyone says so." Ignoring this though Louis only smiled and patted the seat next to him.

"Nonsense. You're a wizard, wouldn't be here if you weren't. You are just as capable at casting a spell as the next guy. Besides, " Louis smirked "I'm not apart of everyone, I'm afraid, so you kinda have to do the spell. If only to prove me wrong, which I already know you won't."

Looking unsure but resigned, the boy walked forward and sat himself down, allowing the door to shut behind him. Louis turned his body some more to face him better and allowed for his wand to slide out of it's holster and into his palm. He wrapped his fingers around the wood and motioned for the boy to do so as well. He did, quite reluctantly at that.

"Excellent." He smiled. "Now before I teach you this spell two things: one is that it is a bit advanced so you might have a little trouble but we'll eventually get it so don't worry about that. Second, it is only polite to know who I am teaching." Here, he allowed his smile to stretch it into something a bit more natural and relaxed, softening it. The boy returned it hesitantly after a minute.

"I'm Neville Longbottom. Nice to meet you," Louis grinned, showing his teeth.

"I'm Louis and it's been a pleasure Neville," he straightened his spine. "Now the spell I will be teaching you is the Summoning Charm. First, you-"

For the next half hour, Louis showed Neville the proper wand movements and taught him to right annunciation, adjusting his stutters and wrist twitches with a patience calm. Neville fumbled with his wands quite a bit first, flinching and jerking around as sounds escaped his lips that were vaguely said in latin but not right at all. But after the boy realized Louis was not going to scream at him, he slowly became more confident and relaxed. His hand stilled and became steady, his voice louder, firmer. Louis fixed anything the boy did wrong, providing soft tips here and there, repeating the process that Shira had done not that long ago with him. It seemed Neville was a natural because before an hour had passed, he had managed to summon the pen they were practicing with.

"I-I-I did it!" Neville cheered, eyes wide and mouth agape in astonishment. "I did it?"

Louis nodded quickly, a large grin on his face as he peered at Neville with pride. "You did it, Neville! Faster than me too, took me a couple of days. I knew you'd get it!" He clapped the slightly taller boy on the shoulder. After a second, a breathy laugh escaped Neville and before long he was howling with laughter, tears streaming down his face, repeating the phrase "I did it" under his breath.

Once his student had calmed down, Louis slid his wand back into the boy's palm, the weapon having had fallen to his lap, and closed the boy's fingers around it. "Now, let's get Trevor."

Armed with renewed confidence and his recent success, Neville cleared his throat and said clearly, "Accio Trevor the Toad" and not even a minute later a thump was heard against the door. Eyes wide, the two boys exchanged a glance before jumping up and running to the door. Outside, looking a bit dazed, was a toad that Neville loudly proclaimed as Trevor.

Louis sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, letting his fingertips dip down the hem of his shirt a little. "My bad, should have opened the door first. Sorry Trevor."

Trevor croaked happily and the two boys once more dissolved into laughter.

"By the way Neville," Louis said, catching his breath and breathing in large gasps "that was a fourth year charm. You should be really proud."

The blush and pleased smile did not leave Neville's face for the next hour.

* * *

"I'm a pureblood," The boy to his left said as he opened a Chocolate Frog "that's a wizard born to two magical parents and has two sets of magical grandparents. I live with my grandmother. She's a bit crazy. Really strict and scary." Here, Neville shivered and Louis felt his lips tip p a little in faint amusement. "No one thought I was magical for the longest time but they figured it out real quick when my uncle pushed me out of the window and all I did was bounce off the grass." Neville smiled here but Louis saw that it was a bitter one and he honestly couldn't blame the boy.

"They threw you out the window?! What if you hadn't have bounced? You could have died!" He exclaimed. Neville's head snapped up, eyes a little wide.

"It wasn't that bad, honest! I'm sure someone would have cast a charm. They probably charmed the ground to be soft just in case. Really it would have been fine,"

Louis shook his head. "You are very brave, Neville. And kind. I would have been quite angry at my relatives if they had pushed me out a window." He didn't say anything about what they had actually done. No need for depressing things.

"Iunno about that . . . ." He trailed off. "What about you Louis?"

Louis turned the candy in his head, running his hand down the curve of the box. "Me? Well, I grew up in an orphanage. My parents were said to have died in a car accident when I was one." He shrugged. "I guess I'm a muggleborn, no evidence to suggest otherwise. It's just me."

Neville looked at him for a moment, a sad silence hanging between them. "Maybe we could do a heritage potion later on, see if there's anyone out there?"

Louis smiled unhappily. "Maybe." He set the box down, not feeling hungry anymore. "Anyway, the first time I can think that I performed accidental magic was when I was four and I healed my broken arm after falling from a tree." He didn't mention that Dudley had been the one to push him from said tree.

Neville looked surprised. "You healed yourself? At four? That's a really rare ability, Louis, even for accidental magic. You should look into that. Have you ever done it, besides that time that is?"

Louis's eyebrows rose in sincere surprise. "Really? And yeah all the time. Bruises and scrapes, stuff like that. It's always gone by the time I wake."

"That's really cool, Louis. You should definitely talk to the school healer, she'll be able to help you master it."

Louis nodded, "I will. Thank you, Neville. I thought it was pretty normal."

"No problem."

They sat in comfortable silence before Louis asked, "So, what else can you tell me about the Wizarding World? Anything interesting? I already know about the last war with Voldemort and the whole bloodline issue, but is there anything else you can tell me?"  
Neville looked a little unsure, eyes squinted in concentration, before they opened up more and he bit his lip once before releasing it. "Well, did they tell you about Harry Potter?"

Making sure his face was blank and voice flat, Louis nodded. "Yeah, what about him? He's the one they claim defeated Voldemort right? The baby?"

Neville nodded, looking serious. "Yeah, we call him the Boy-Who-Lived. He survived the Killing Curse, which rebounded and hit You-Know-Who. Or at least that's what Dumbledore says. Anyway. He's supposed to be coming to Hogwarts this year."

"Really?"

"Mhm," Neville hummed and nodded. "Wouldn't that be cool? To have a celebrity here at school with us and in our year too. I wonder what House he'd be in. Probably Gryffindor."  
"Why Gryffindor?" Louis asked, genuinely curious about Neville's reasoning.

"Well," Neville began, looking a bit distracted as he scratched lightly at his elbow. "He is supposed to be really brave right? A hero. He's our saviour. I think everyone would have kittens if he got put anywhere else. Could you imagine the supposed "Golden Boy" in Slytherin? The world would have a field day, claiming him to be a Dark Lord in training. Bullocks that." Neville abruptly stopped here and looked a bit worried, as if he had said something he shouldn't have. Louis nodded.

"That is bullocks. Slytherins aren't evil. People are evil, if such a thing even exists."

"What do you mean? How could evil not exist?" Neville asked, confusion quite evident in his face.

Louis shrugged. "One could say that evil is just the absence of good and everyone has good in them. It might be buried and hidden and really small but it is there. And if it's there, then evil cannot be present can it? Evil is just a suggestive term. It doesn't really mean anything."

Neville nodded very slowly. "T-That . . . makes sense."

"Besides, claiming all Slytherins are evil is like saying all Gryffindor's are good. There were Death Eaters from that House and the other two just like Slytherin. Beliefs are not what defines a House. It's character and ability that does. It's our choices and mindsets. Our personality."  
"S-So if you don't think Slytherins are evil and Gryffindor's good, then what do you think? My gran seems to think the only real House to be in is Gryffindor. She'd probably disown me if I went elsewhere."  
"That's just bullshit," Louis snarled lowly and Neville jumped in surprise, staring at him in astonishment. "You can't let a House mean that much to you. Sure, be proud of it, but this is _school_. We're only here for seven years, I mean honestly. Each House has a lot to offer, to be proud of. You shouldn't let your grandmother cloud your judgement, Neville. You should be proud of whichever House suits you. Remember that. Slytherin's are ambitious and smart in their own way. Very sneaky. It takes a great deal of drive and determination to get anywhere and to accomplish that. You have to respect that, at least. Ravenclaws are intelligent and observant, often thinking outside of the box and exploring more than the norm. They're creative and the world needs that. We need color. Gryffindor is full of courage and resourceful. They use any means to do what needs to be done and sometimes that is very admirable. They're not afraid to stand up, even if it's just for their self. That takes a lot to do. Hufflepuffs are loyal and kind, full of drive. They're always there to help people out and stand by you no matter what, through thick and thin. They don't back down and believe in wholes. You can't say that about a lot of people. Each House represents something beautiful and amazing. We shouldn't discriminate them like we do."

This had been one of the things that bothered Louis: the House system and the way everyone treated each House. There were stereotypes but they rarely ever showed to be perfectly true and it was driving him mental. He was so annoyed. Not all Slytherins were bullies or jerks, there were many that felt hated their House and the ideas surrounding it, many who disagreed with violence. One of the most renowned pacifists in the Wizarding World was a Slytherin. Not all Gryffindors were rash and knights in shining armour. There were many of them that cried and screamed and hid behind the world, sticking to shadows. Many that threw curses and planned down to the last detail. It took a lot of bravery to be yourself though and there were different kinds of bravery. No one seemed to get that. There were stubborn and vicious Hufflepuffs that liked to fight and didn't know when to back down. Hufflepuffs that liked curse words and drinking and dancing and playing pranks. There were Ravenclaws that hate homework, hated studying, but loved research. They loved reading about absolutely everything involved in certain topics. Ravenclaws that could talk for hours about abstract theories in charms but when it came to the actual lesson that day, would fall asleep faster than one could say Snitch.

Breaking out of his stupor with a slight jolt, he looked over to Neville, who was staring at his with a frown, and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that. It just annoys me."

Neville shook his head. "No you're right. No one seems to think like that but I'm glad you said it. Now there's two people who see it that way. Makes me feel a bit better about the whole thing." And because of that simple statement and the sheepish smile Neville himself flashed him at the end of it, Louis grinned.

Maybe Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

If Louis knew that the sorting would be done by a magical hat with the ability to read

one's mind, he might have reconsidered going to Beauxbatons. Honestly.

Walking between the two middle tables, with Neville by his side and a boy with black

hair before him, Louis had faintly listened to a girl behind him talk about the enchantments placed upon the ceiling. Apparently he wasn't the only one to have read Hogwarts: A History. Excellent. Maybe he'd talk to her later, although she'd have to slow down a bit. He didn't need to see the school's healer tonight, thanks.

For now though he stood before the entire school, students and staff alike, and stared at a stool which had a hat on it. A hat that had just sung from a tear in its brim. How odd.

He had to learn how to do that.

The woman that had lead them here, to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall she had called herself, walked up a step onto a raised platform and grabbed a scroll that was resting beneath the hat on the stool. Unrolling it and leveling it close enough to read, she cleared her throat pointedly and rose her voice to speak.

"When I call your name, you will step forward and allow me to place the hat on your head to get sorted."

He felt the people around him fidget and twitch in their nervousness. Many of them looked pale and green with nerves. One kid was dancing on the balls of her feet, eyes darting rapidly from the professor to the hat, gnawing quite thoroughly at her lip. Another kid had his arms wrapped quite tightly around his middle and looked like he was going to cry. Louis felt sympathy for them, or rather empathy for he felt the exact same way.

He felt all eyes placed upon them and he knew that this was a moment that would seal a great deal of things to the people around them. This would set up not only their classes and roommates but what people thought of them. This would help determine their friends and beliefs, would guide them to where they needed to be. This moment would set their future because even though he didn't believe that everything was predetermined, he did believe that things were effected by single instances, that even the slightest change could, and would, change everything.

Slytherin made you a murderous dark wizard, Gryffindor a rash fool, Hufflepuff a weak tool, and Ravenclaw a cold nerd. Each House made you a freak.

He didn't want such a title again.

They had the weight of the world on their shoulders, even if it was just for a couple of seconds. He took a deep, silent sigh and released it through his nose.

"Abbott, Hannah."

 **A/N: I know the train scene was quite rushed but honestly I wasn't in the mood to write it, though it was needed, and I tried waiting to see if I gained any patience but it never occurred so . . . . Anyway, I have a surprise coming up for you guys in the next couple of chapters or so. It's nothing big but something a few of you have been curious about so there's that.**

 **Last chance to get a word in about House. Please tell me what you guys prefer. Doesn't matter to me.**

 **Please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat yelled out precisely a minute and 56 seconds after it was placed upon Hannah's blonde haired head. Louis watched as the tie around her neck gave a little twist, tightening itself up, only to be uncoiled not as the black tie it was but as one in a golden yellow color with thin black lines running through it every few inches. Hannah had a large toothy grin on her face as she bounded over to the table that was the second from the right, third in line, where they had the same colored ties as her (and cloak crest too now that he checked). It was the same table that was giving loud, but contained cheers, as the rest of the school politely clapped (some also giving a few cheers).

"Bones, Susan." McGonagall called roughly a minute after Hannah had been seated and the noise lowered back to relative silence. He said relative since it was a school full of children that were surrounded by their friends and have yet to of eaten. They were no doubt whispering among themselves. A girl with red hair and blunt bangs not far from where he stood, gently pushed her way through her surrounding first years and made her way onto the platform, where she sat upon the stool with a nervous grin. Placing the hat on her head, McGonagall stepped back and waited with the rest of them.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat called less than a minute later and Susan jumped up and passed the hat to McGonagall, who smiled at her (sort of, it was quite small). Susan walked quickly to the same table as Hannah, practically skipping herself, and seated herself next to the blonde, exchanging grins with the girl as she received claps on the back and cheers from her new housemates.

"Boot, Terry."

A boy with closely cropped and neat brown hair stepped up to the stool, legs shaking slightly, and was sorted into Ravenclaw after a half a minute. The whole of the sorting continued in a similar fashion. McGonagall would call out a name and said student would run up there, be sorted after a minute or so, and then go to their proper table with the noise of many cheers. Though Louis did notice that some people took longer to have their House yelled out then others.

The hat sat on Mandy Brocklehurst's head for almost two minutes before yelling out Slytherin, the first to the House of Snakes, who greeted her with soft claps and somewhat quiet cheers when compared to the rest, though Ravenclaw wasn't that much louder, they were just more clapping than yells over there. But it wasn't just Mandy. Hermione Granger was on the stool, hat covering her face, for over two minutes and ended up going to Ravenclaw. He wasn't surprised as that was the girl who had been chatting about the ceiling earlier, the one who had read the same book as him. Theodore Nott went to Slytherin after a long chat with the Hat that lasted almost another two minutes. And the same could be said about Justin Finch-Fletchley, who ended up going to Gryffindor, and Lavender Brown, who went to Hufflepuff.

But more than the length of the Sorting, came the actual House's selected themselves as their were a few that seemed to throw people a wrench, confusing them. Gregory Goyle, who was the second in line for heirship in his predominantly Slytherin family, ended up in Hufflepuff of all places, and it had been a relatively quick decision on the Hat's part. Surprisingly, though, the boy Goyle had been standing by before he was sorted, Crabbe, had given him a nod all the way from SLytherin. Now _that_ would be a friendship to monitor. Slytherin, while having a rivalry with Gryffindor, tended to pick their victims so to speak from Hufflepuff. Judging by the frown that had marked Crabbe's face after his friend had been firmly seated at his table though that task would be quite harder to achieve than others. The pointed glare didn't help matters either. Neville, while unsurprising to Louis, went to Hufflepuff with the biggest grin he had seen on the boy's face and even McGonagall herself couldn't hold back a smile as she watched him bound happily to his new table. The biggest of surprises though came with one Draco Malfoy.

When the Hat had been placed on his head, it's brim had opened almost immediately, but instead of releasing anything, it faltered, shutting its "mouth" a second later. They had a long talk, a talk where Louis could see Draco's hands tighten so much on the stool that they paled and lost all hints of color. They seemed to argue for quite sometime, over three minutes, before the Hat had surprisingly released "GRYFFINDOR!"

Draco had left the stool to be met by silence, his whole body shaking and face deathly pale. It wasn't until he was halfway there that two identical boys from Gryffindor stood up and began to clap and whoop loudly, soon followed by a black boy, and by the time Draco had reached the table and sat down by a curly red-headed boy, the whole table was cheering and the rest of the school was clapping along in surprised bemusement. Draco's cheeks were pink and he looked like he was about to cry but Louis saw a smile twitch onto his face and he felt proud of the boy. It took a great deal of guts to break the Malfoy tradition and social expectation of going to Slytherin. Gryffindor indeed.

After the excitement with Draco Malfoy's sorting, Theodore Nott was quietly sorted into Slytherin, completely ignoring his congratulations and surrounding as he sat down and proceeded to pull a book out from the inner pocket of his cloak. Louis smirked when he saw that. Padma Patil, a pretty girl with her black hair up in a ponytail, went to Ravenclaw and her twin, Parvati, went to Gryffindor. They shared secret smiles with each other, though their eyes looked a bit sad. Next went Pansy Parkinson, who was sorted also to Ravenclaw, much to her slight surprise if her wide eyes were anything to go by. And then, not long after Parkinson, came the moment Louis had been waiting for.

"Potter, Harry."

The effect of his real name being said was immediate. Almost as soon as the last sylabble left her lips, the Great Hall had all the noise sucked out of it. Louis even heard something drop. The air seemed to spark with excitement, tengaling together with tension and curiosity as students and staff alike straightened their spines and scooted to the edges of their seats, eyes bright. They stared at the platform, watching intently for a boy to appraoch the stool, have McGonagall place the Hat on his head, and it to shout Gryffindor.

Only no boy stepped forward.

"Harry Potter?" McGonagall called out again, looking from her scroll with a slightly nervous look on her face. Whispers began to break out as no one stepped forward, once again.

" _Where's he at?'_

" _Do you think she means THE Harry Potter?"_

" _I bet he's just hiding-"_

" _-make an entrance-"_

" _The savior-!"_

McGonagall spun on her heel slowly and peered over at a man that sat in the middle of the staff table. He had half-moon specktacles perched on the edge of his nose and a long white beard that continued past the table's view, down towards his shoes. His bright blue eyes raked over the first years slowly, a hint of worry in them, before he released a long, suffering sigh.

"Please continue, Minerva. It seems Mr. Potter has decided not to attend Hogwarts."

After a minute of hesitation, McGonagall called out the next name, an Austin Smith, and the Sorting continued on, though there was an air of urgency to it now and even a bit of depressed gloominess.

The Savior of the Wizarding World had not come to Hogwarts. So where was he?

Louis dipped his head and hid his smirk. Ignorance was bliss. He really loved being Louis Joshua Thompson sometimes.

"Thomas, Dean." Louis looked up as a black boy with cool hair sat upon the stool, the first of the T's. He knew he was about to be Sorted and while he wasn't exactly nervous, Shira had explained the whole process to him, comparing it to Legilimency, he was still feeling his palms begin to sweat. This was it. This was the moment everything was set in stone.

After Dean took his seat at Gryffindor by an Irish boy named Seamus Finnigan, McGonagall unrolled her scroll once more, looked like her hands were getting tired, cleared her throat, and called out:

"Thompson, Louis."

He straightened his back and walked up the step to the platform, bypassed McGonagall, and calmly sat on the stool. He ignored the whispers around him, the whispers that questioned his surname, his blood, and the ones that spoke of other things, like his cheeks of all things (he sent a silent glare towards that particular Gryffindor, he had heard her alright) and his somewhat shabby clothes (why buy new ones when the second hand ones were just as fine? Besides, he was a poor orphan on a scholarship). He ignored the hundreds of eyes that were locked on him, both on his face and on the back of his head, and waited as they were quickly covered by the old, crinkled, brown inside of the Sorting Hat.

" _Well, well, well. So here's Harry Potter, though I suppose you do go by a different name now, don't you?"_ A voice of moderate volume spoke in his ear. He forced his face to stay impassive and his body calm, even if he did have the urge to look over his shoulder. Just to check.

 _I'd like to hope that will stay between us, Mr. . . . ?_ Louis thought back, trailing off slightly.

The Hat paused before answering, presumably rummaging through his thoughts. " _I haven't had someone ask my name in many decades, Mr. Potter. You may call me Yodin. That's who gifted Godric me. Without enchantments, might I add. And don't worry young man. I am bound by a secrecy charm of sorts to never reveal anything I might find or be told."_

 _Good_

The hat, Yodin, gave a chuckle ( he wondered if that was in his head or aloud. He was sure the students would be mighty confused were it the latter). " _Yes, cloaked in completely secrecy you are, Potter."_

 _You can call me Harry, Yodin. It's only fair. Though I ask you to only refer to me as such in private._

" _Of course, Harry. Now, let's get to the task at hand, shall we? There's no doubt you hold the cunning Salazar would be proud to see. You walk in it literally every day. How on earth did you manage to hide Harry Potter's existence? Louis couldn't have just popped up out of nowhere. Someone would have asked questions."_

 _It was quite difficult and hard to explain,_ he confessed, biting his lip a little. _The way Shira spoke, we believe that I unconsciously casted a Notice-Me-Not Charm upon myself once I was left in France and dropped off at an orphanage. People only ever really speak to me when I talk to them first or someone asks for me. If they're not thinking of me then they don't go looking for me. They just accept everything. We suspect a slight form of the Confundus Charm was involved as well in that case. It helps that after I met Shira, we had the goblins make all the proper documents. I am technically a legal citizen in both the UK and France. Not that anyone asks. Flitwick didn't even seem to have anything for a transfer._

" _Hmm . . . that is quite the story. To be casting such spells, even by no purpose of yours, at such a young age is a remarkable feat. You are quite the powerful wizard, Mr. Potter. Also, I overheard between the Headmaster and Filius that they had gone to make the appropriate means of transferring you over and, well, picking you up, but that they were told it was unneeded. No doubt a product of your dual-citizenship, which, might I add, is quite difficult to obtain."_

Louis allowed a grin to show on his face but remained silent otherwise.

Yodin gave a quiet huff aloud. " _Very resourceful of you, Mr. Potter. A trait that can be found in many of the Houses, though not so much in Gryffindor as Godric would have liked. Alas, nothing I can do._ Yodin seemed to smirk here, no doubt thinking the same thing Louis was. There was a hell of a lot Yodin could do about that!

 _Anyway, on with your Sorting. I can feel Albus's gaze on me and it's annoying._ Louis had to muffle a chuckle at that one for he could too feel the Headmaster's gaze on the back of his head and cheek. _You're quite an interesting character, Mr. Potter, so why don't we just analyze a few things and go from there?  
_ Without waiting for a response from him, the hat continued on. _You're childhood projects a rather Slytherin profile, what with you forcing your emotions away and sneaking food. You hold a great deal of ambition, wanting to be more than anyone has ever thought of you, to prove them all wrong before they even know what they've done. The orphanage time strand shows a number of things, particularly once you meet your lovely mentor. You show kindness and resilience towards your housemates, providing even your enemies with stolen food. Quite the Hufflepuff. Helga would have been proud. It takes plenty of courage to not even try to return to your relatives, to know when you are in a better situation, even if it seems worse at times, as well as to steal that much food, even if you do always get away with it. But your mind, now that's something else. You don't think like a lot of people, Mr. Potter, and believe me, I know people. You possess much creativity and are open to all possibilities, void of many of the common biases I see in your schoolmates. You enjoy learning, both for the sake of knowledge but also preparedness. You truly could work with any of the Houses but I think the one you would strive the most in is_ RAVENCLAW!" With the last word yelled out to the whole of the Hall, Louis waited for McGonagall to remove Yodin before making his way over to Ravenclaw with smooth, graceful steps of his legs.

The House of Ravenclaw welcomed him with soft pats on the back (which he tried his best to ignore) and boisterous clapping. He took his seat next to a pretty girl with black hair that was slightly older than him. She introduced herself as Cho Chang as he reluctantly shook her hand, not liking the contact. He wasn't a germophobe by any means but that didn't mean he didn't think of the germs involved in such an action. Plus, he hated having one of his limbs temporarily restricted. Almost living on the streets did that to a kid.

"You were up there for like . . . five minutes!" A boy a few people down from them said excitedly.

The rest of the Sorting lasted only for a few minutes longer. Lisa Turpin joined them at Ravenclaw, Ron Weasley went to Gryffindor (and sat as far away from Malfoy as he could), and it was finished by Blaise Zabini, who went to Slytherin with a grin, which he got a few glares for from his new housemates, though he seemed to completely ignore those much to Louis's amusement.

After the Sorting, the man that had spoken earlier rose to his feet and approached a beautifully crafted podium that appeared out of nowhere in front of the staff table. He was introduced as Albus Dumbledore, their Headmaster, by Professor McGonagall and lead the school in song, which Louis completely refused to partake in no matter how much Cho shoved her thumb into his abdomen. He spoke for a little bit, mumbling nonsense and warning about the Forbidden Forest (it was named Forbidden, what else would it be but forbidden ?!) and instructing them to stay away from the third corridor, as it was restricted to students this year. Louis rolled his eye's at this. What could possibly have been a better way to make a school full of children curious. Indeed, many whispers broke out, over half of which he could hear were about how they should investigate because it "has to be something cool". Bravo, Dumbledore. Well done.

The Headmaster sat down after mumbling a bit more nonsense and then the food appeared. Looking around him, he saw roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, jam, biscuits, cranberry sauce, and all sorts of rich, hearty things, Feeling his stomach turn in disagreement, he regretfully scooped a pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate and grabbed a single roll, picking away at his meal with a fork.

"Is that all you're going to get?" Cho asked him not unkindly, peering down at his plate with a frown.

He shrugged. "I'm not that hungry, to be honest. I doubt I could eat much more than this if I'm being honest with you." Cho's frown didn't disappear but she did thankfully drop the subject, turning to her own meal and eating away at some chicken he hadn't seen.

Moodily stabbing his potatoes, he mentally cursed the Dursley's and pathetic checks given to the orphanage. Useless the lot of them.

* * *

When dinner was over and they had been warmly dismissed, Louis followed a girl he was told was Penelope Clearwater and some other boy her age with his fellow first years. Hermione stood next to him, chatting excitedly with Terry, who was responding just as exuberantly. Behind him were Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Lisa Turpin, who were all talking quietly about their parents, who were apparently all magical and eagerly waiting for letters. Ahead of him and a little to the side he saw Padma Patil whispering comforting words to Pansy Parkinson, who had a down trodden face and her arms crossed.

They wove their way through the students, Penelope and the unnamed boy pointing out different routes they could take and markers to identify and remember them by. They would also be getting a map apparently. Excellent. He was already lost and he was being guided.

After finally entering what Penelope said was the west wing of Hogwarts and going up a spiral staircase, they approached what was presumably the Ravenclaw Common Room. Here, they were faced with a door that had a eagle shaped knocker on it and no doorknob or keyhole. The eagle opened it's bronze beak and said in a surprisingly smooth tone, "What asks but never enters?"

"A question." Lisa answered immediately and the eagle congratulated her before the door opened inward, allowing them entrance. Penelope flashed Lisa a smile.

"The riddles will get progressively harder the longer you are here. The eagle is also able to generally identify how intelligent it needs to phrase them so you'll never be underchallenged."

"Can't anyone get in just by answering the riddle?" Pansy asked, her voice low. Penelope gave an approving nod.

"Excellent question and you would think so but the door has a ward placed on it that prevents anyone from entering that is unaccompanied by a student currently in Ravenclaw House, riddle or no. Of course, the staff is the exception to this."

"That makes sense." Padma nodded, looking pleased.

"Well there's no sense lingering out here so let's head on in." Penelope said, turning her back on them and entering through the door, the first years following obediently.

The first impression that Louis had of the Ravenclaw Common Room was that is was gorgeous and spacious. It was a spherical room with the walls were done up in a very dark blue with constellations painted onto the ceiling, not unlike the ceiling of the Great Hall. The perfect reflection of the night sky outside. Blue cloths and tapestries were neatly hung from the ceiling, connected to the top of the wall and meeting at the center of the ceiling where a bronze chandelier was with dainty lights on it. In the center of the room was a white marble platform with lines carved into it, dividing the platform into "tiles". Surrounding the platform were a variety of blue couches with brown pillows and silver blankets. There were armchairs by a fireplace that was situated a couple of feet from the left of the door. On the opposite side of the room, in basically the exact same spot, were an assortment of musical instruments. Periodically, desks and table were placed about. Nothing was too close to each other, providing space and privacy. Lining the walls, perfectly fitted to the circular shape, were bookshelves stocked full with books. Behind the platform were two doorways concealed behind separate thin silver curtains. Between the two doorways was a chalkboard that went from ceiling to floor and was covered in chalk, questions and answers covering it.

"This is the Common Room and will be one of the places that you will spend a great deal of time at. You are allowed to sit anywhere you want, study whenever you want, read any of the books, play any of the instruments. The chalkboard behind me is where your fellow Claws pose questions for anyone to answer, should you know the answer, or have a question yourself, you just have to grab a piece of the provided chalk and write it down. The chalkboard is cleared every week. Should there be no answer, it will remain until one is provided. What you are standing on is the dueling platform. A student is allowed to practice dueling at any time with anyone here, you must merely notify either Professor Flitwick, our Head of House, or one of the prefects so that we can put up the protective barrier so no accidents happen. Failure to do so will result in detention. The dormitories are also behind me, guys to the left and girls to the right. Years are separated by floor and you each have your own room, magically spaced to fit. We Ravenclaws tend to stay up late and there are some among us who do not. To be courteous to them, we give you your own room, which is surrounded with a soundproof ward so no one can hear what you are doing from the inside. Your names are on plagues on the door as they are assigned so there is no picking. All rooms are the same.

Before I release you to bed, as you are no doubt tired, I would like to inform you of a few things. Every Friday Professor Flitwick comes down after dinner and we have a House Meeting, where we are free to discuss anything as a House and where Professor Flitwick helps with tutoring. Once a month we have a dueling tournament among ourselves for anyone who is interested, the winner faces Professor Flitwick himself, who is a many times Dueling Champion. No one's beaten him yet but he offers great tips and tricks so it's definitely worth it. Tutoring is offered to everyone who needs it, all you have to do is ask one of us prefects and we'll arrange something for you. Study groups are encouraged and we don't care who you interact with, just as long as your grades don't slip. Curfew is at 9 for the first and second years and 10 for everyone else. Breakfast is ready at 5:30, lunch at 12, and dinner at 6:30. Professor Flitwick will be meeting with all of you sometime this week to get to know you, so expect a time slip to be handed to you tomorrow with your time tables. You will also undergo a visit with Madam Pomfrey, our school healer, after your meeting to make sure everyone has the proper vaccines and such. Are there any questions? No? Alright then, you guys are free to go. Meet down here at 6:50 and I will head you guys down to the Great Hall and pass out the information packets, which includes the school map."

With that, Louis and his yearmates split up to go to their separate rooms. On the first floor (though technically it was the second), he found his name on the last door. However, it had no doorknob either. Instead, there was another knocker, though this one was a raven.

"Password?" The metal bird asked, voice empty.

"Er . . . " He murmured before realizing that they must be able to assign one to their rooms. Awesome.

"How about . . . _Sanguini_." He hissed out his friends name in parseltongue, which to his amusement caused his friend to slip from underneath his sleeve and stare at him.

"Password accepted." The raven squawked, opening it's door up to reveal a nicely spaced room painted in a rich, dark blue. There was a light brown, four-poster bed in the center of the back wall, decorated with blue and silver colored sheets and pillows. On both sides of the bed were two matching nightstands that had a single drawer. At the foot of his bed, on the floor, was his trunk. Next to the door, on it's right and tucked in a corner, was an equally colored desk, which had a blue backed chair pushed under it. To his left was a matching wardrobe and a door, which he guessed lead to a bathroom. Walking inside, he found a tub and shower head, a toilet, and a sink with a mirror. Seeing a laundry basket by the door, he stripped off his clothes and placed them inside before heading over to his trunk and putting on some pajamas. He'd take a shower in the morning. Setting his wand to wake him at 5:00, Louis climbed into his bed, pulling back the sheets, and snuggled into the warm covers. Bless the house elves for casting warming charms on them. They were truly godsends. Sanguini, still wrapped around his forearm, slid off and hid under the pillow while the tiger cub, whom he had decided to name Natasha, that had been hiding within the inside (magically expanded) pocket of his cloak and he had carried to the bed with him, curled up by his stomach, giving a tired purr. He'd have to find something for her to play with and a place for Sanguini to explore. He had been neglecting his friends recently, too busy to really stop and talk with them. One was either busy working or sleeping and he had missed talking with his slippery friend and rolling around with his fuzzy one. Vowing to rectify this, Louis fell into a dreamless, content sleep, feeling more relaxed than he had in years.

 **A/N: Next up: first week of classes and a bit on Sanguini.**

 **Originally, I had Harry as Gryffindor because of a particular friendship I want for this story, which will probably be a surprise to most tbh, but in the end most wanted Ravenclaw and I could work with that so here you go.**

 **How do you like some of the Sorting changes I made? Don't worry, that does not mean they will have completely different personalities. We're just exploring some things that I thought were interesting. For example, Draco is not going to be reckless and all that is good. He is still pretty Slytherin.**

 **Confession: almost put Hermione in Slytherin. I was quite close. Very close. Almost haha.**

 **How do you guys like Natasha's name? I was going to find something meaningful and something that would hint at her future purpose but then I was like "Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. Russia. Siberian tiger." It was a weird and rather random and quick decision on my part but eh. I was actually going to release her name next chapter originally but oh well. Anyway I know this is short but my updates have been a bit slow recently (midterms, sorry) and I wanted to give you guys something.**

 **Please review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Louis woke up the next day to the feeling of slippery scales against his skin, specifically on his cheek. Opening his eyes, the world was a bit fuzzy and nothing was definite. He lifted a hand to rub over them quite hard, trying to clear up his vision. When it returned to him, objects sharpening up in the darkness that engulfed his room, he was able to make out the coiled shape of Sanguini, who was resting next to his head. Smiling, he looked around for Natasha and was not surprised to find her in the same spot she had fallen asleep at. Moving his hand, he carded his fingers through her soft fur and relished the moment, enjoying the simplicity of it. Closing his eyes, Louis let his head fall back onto his mattress and he wiggled himself a bit towards the warmth engulfing him in the form of soft, blue sheets.

Today would be the first day of classes and he knew that this would set the stage for Louis Thompson. Today would be the day that Louis became real to his peers and teachers, they would see his face and assign it his name, the name that would be kindly provided to them, the face that would be offered to them. They would watch him, examine his movements, listen to his words, memorize his voice, and study his every being. Today would be the day students would branch out, linking arms through their fellow first years and claiming seats that would more than likely be theirs for the rest of the year. They would try to talk to him, understand him, befriend him. Today would be the day that Louis Thompson was more than just a facade, he was a person.

On some part, he was prepared for this. He had been playing the somewhat cold and cruel boy for four years now. He had hardened his heart, build walls around his mind (literally) and embraced the French orphan boy of Paris. But no one had asked for his story before, had wanted to get to know him. Louis had never truly interacted with other children his age, had never had a friend. It had been impossible at the Dursley's household but even in France he had cut himself off. The primary school that he attended with the other children didn't require him to make friends and since he popped up out of nowhere and was quite reserved, the others had tended to subconsciously stay away from him, not that he minded of course. At the orphanage, he had barely shown his face, usually running the streets looking for things to steal and teens to trade with. He had eaten with them, sometimes, and had been known to occasionally entertain the younger children but more than that was unheard of. Louis had made sure to stick to himself to avoid any extra stress and outside of those first few months, everyone had played along.

When he had been abandoned in France by his useless relatives and subsequently found by a law enforcement officer, they hadn't asked many questions. There had been brief sentences made in french and while he hadn't understood them at the time, he knew now that the man had been asking him about his family, about his home. When they brought him to the orphanage and the english girl had been asked to translate for them, he had lied and responded quickly, having the skill and experience of doing so in Little Whinging. No one questioned him. Why would he lie? He had told them that his aunt was the only family he had and that they were from England but had moved to Paris about a month ago to live with some frenchman for a short time. He hadn't known the man, had never spoken to him, and had never left the house. His aunt was terribly ill you see and he took time to take care of her. When she passed, the man had kicked him out, not wanting a child. He wasn't his responsibility and as such dropped him off near town to find the orphanage himself. Harry had just gotten lost is all. And so they believed him. There were no frenchmen to search for, since he had never actually interacted with the man to even recognize him and since his aunt and him had only been visiting France, there were no records of them. They had not been required to fill out any legal papers and no hotel was needed so the only sign of them had been when crossing the border, though since he was only seven, Harry was no help in that area. When they had asked his name, he had given them Louis Thompson, knowing that they couldn't know his real name, that they might try to send him back once they discovered the truth and that this was his chance to start over, to be his own person. He had changed his appearance for the first time that night, well intentionally anyway, and the look had stayed. They wouldn't have noticed thanks to the darkness and quickness of events. But after the policeman had left and the matron had asked him a few questions and he had been questioned a little by the american (he remembered the American girl from the Catholic school, the one that had been studying social work and had happily taught him enough french to get by), he had had no reason to really develop Louis. The boy was reserved, quiet, and a bit of a deviant. That was it and up until now, that had been enough.

Louis knew that here people would ask questions. Odds are, there weren't that many orphans and that fact alone would make him a topic of interest among the people of Hogwarts. They would want to ask him where he lived, what happened to his parents. They would undoubtedly notice his slight french accent and they would ask about it, he would have to explain why he had come from France to Hogwarts, not Beauxbatons. They would want to know everything, his interests and hobbies and preferences, and while he could get away with the reserved boy for a little while, he knew that it wouldn't always hold up.

Louis didn't even know if he wanted to be the reserved quiet boy. Talking to Neville had given him a glance at what he could have: a friend. The now Hufflepuff boy would no doubt be agreeable and he suspected that Hermione would also try to befriend him once she learned of their shared interest in certain books. But Louis was used to being alone, to keeping people at a distance, and if he really wanted this persona to last awhile, it would be easier to have to deal with very little people. He liked Neville but he couldn't allow him to get too close. With the boy being in a different House, they wouldn't interact with one another as much as those in Ravenclaw, so it wouldn't be that hard. Maybe he could pair up with the boy for a few classes or so. It wouldn't hurt to be friendly or start a study group with him, just as long as he kept him at arm's length. Yes he could do that.

The true worries were the Ravenclaws. They would be the ones around him the most and as such, would be prying the msot, would be looking and waiting the most. He would be eating, learning, and relaxing around them. It would only be a matter of time before they started asking him questions and investigating. He knew that Ravenclaws were a bit isolated by nature, preferring solitude, and would back off if he said he didn't want to talk about it or something similar but not all of the Ravenclaws were like that. Some wouldn't be able to stop themselves from looking into the matter and he would have to either be rude and shut them down early on or provide them with enough information to satisfy them. He suspected that while Cho Chang and Padma Patil would be a part of the first group, Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson were not.

He would have to be careful.

* * *

It was over an hour later that Louis sat up with a sigh, hearing his wand rattle around on his nightstand, emitting a faint ring. Picking the piece of specialized wood up and giving it a little generalized flick, he muted the alarm, disabling it, and placed the wand on his pillow. Natasha purred sleepily and nuzzled into the mattress while Sanguini gave an irritated hiss at being disturbed, to which Harry apologized.

Turning to his trunk, he pulled out some toiletries and a school uniform, noticing with a bit of astonishment that all of his black ties were now a pleasantly darker shade of blue with bronze and silver lines running through it, and made his way into the connected bathroom to his now left. He closed the toilet seat and placed his clothes on it before turning to the sink, deciding quickly to take a shower later that night instead of this morning. Putting some toothpaste on his brush and running it under the water for a few seconds, he looked into the mirror at himself.

Whenever he fell asleep, his magic tended to be more dormant and at times, more so when he was younger, his features would morph back into those of young Harry Potter. It had been troubling at first, he had worried that someone would walk i n and see him, and while there had been a few close calls, he was lucky that the orphanage had a big privacy policy, allowing the children to lock their doors when they wanted to. Coincidentally, he had locked his door for almost a year when he first got there during the time he was asleep, both because of his hidden worries but also because he didn't quite trust anyone to not come in and mess with him. Even so, he must have been a bit vulnerable last night, what with the big move and slight stress he was under not to mention exhaustion, for his features were no longer that of Louis.

A boy a few inches shorter than Louis stared back at him with unworldly bright green eyes. He had a soft, feminine face that looked more childlike than he would have liked. The boy staring back at him had gentle curves and high cheekbones with pouty soft pink lips that were curved elegantly. He had perpetually messy black hair that looked rather windswept (when he was older he would give it a different label but as of now, he was too young for such thoughts and was unaware of the observation) and ivory skin, looking quite pale in the bright lighting of the bathroom. Giving himself a small smile, he began to brush his teeth, staring into the eyes that he knew were similar to those of his mother, the eyes that were on a face not unlike his father's. He closed his eyes, blocking his reflection out of sight, and spit into the sink, running his toothbrush under the water again to rinse it off. Bending down and opening his eyes once he knew the mirror wouldn't be in front of him, he got a mouthful of water and swooshed it around, rinsing his teeth off of the toothpaste foams and the small buildup he had behind his bottom front teeth. Once he was done with that, he straightened back up slowly and stared hard at his reflection. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard. It was always more difficult to change his appearance from the original. His body was constantly full of change, trying to be something else than what he had. At times he forgot what he truly looked like, behind Louis and the random shifts, and it was scary. He had to force Louis's features for the longest time before they came effortlessly, fighting off any new changes with practiced ease. Still, whenever they all dropped in his sleep he had to think hard to change them back. He was still young, still learning to control his metamorphagus abilities, and while he had a good grasp on hair, eyes, and height, the rest still came to him with difficulty. He still had to practice to make himself look darker, to add some weight onto his frail body. The light purple hair and yellow eyes he would give himself during late nights took minutes to appear whereas Louis's dark blonde, almost a light brown, hair and blue eyes took seconds. One day though he would be able to be whatever and whoever he wanted. Maybe even himself.

Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the face he usually saw. Nodding in satisfaction that everything was in order, he picked up his comb and ran it through his hair, cringing slightly as it caught on a few knots. When he finished with that he rubbed in the scented moisturizer that the lady in an apothecary had recommended to him for it's healing properties and rubbed it over his arms, neck, and face. After that he sluggishly tugged his clothes off to leave him in nothing. Walking a few steps over to the toilet, he shoved his boxers on and slipped his pants over them, leaving them unbuttoned and unzipped. He put his arms through the sleeves and his white button up after he slipped on a white undershirt and proceeded to do up the buttons, allowing his fingers to caress the smooth edges. Finished, he brought up his tie and after a few failed attempts, managed to produce a very nice looking classic knot that left it falling gracefully against his chest. He then put on a pair of tall, gray socks before following up with his shoes. He proceeded to then tuck in his shirt neatly from all sides before zipping up and buttoning his pants close. Satisfied, that he had put everything on, he slipped his arms through his black cloak with the Ravenclaw crest upon it's breast and put all of his dirty clothes in the hamper before heading out the door and back over to his bed.

Natasha was now awake and padded over to him happily when she saw him, excited. She butted her head against his hand when he finally reached her and mewed impatiently, to which he chuckled softly and petted her.

"Sorry, I can't take you with me, Nat, but you can play in here while I'm out. We'll go exploring later, I promise." The siberian tiger cub paid he no mind as she continued to happily purr. He supposed it didn't really matter to her right now anyway. It was a new place after all and she had to get settled as well.

A few minutes of their interaction had Natasha leaving out of boredom to curl up and lick her paws a foot over on the bed. Shaking his head, he approached Sanguini.

" _Are we leaving, hatchling?"_ Sanguini questioned tiredly, lifting his head to peer over at his human. Louis nodded.

" _Yes, we have to go to breakfast first but then classes start. You can hide up my sleeve if you want but you can stay here if you'd prefer."_ Even as he said this, he had already held his arm out for the snake to coil around.

" _I shall go with you, child. You'll get in trouble without me."_ Sanguini hissed as he slid under his robe sleeve and over his shirt's. Straightening his arm and not seeing the snake any, he nodded before bending it once more.

" _Of that, "_ Louis grinned goofily " _I have no doubt."_

After saying a quick goodbye to Natasha and bending to grab the backpack he had prepared for the day from his trunk (it stored a notebook journal of parchment, all of his books, and some magical quill-like pens all under a featherweight charm), the pair made their may down a level of stairs and into the common room, where he saw a few Ravenclaws messing about. Near the door, Penelope stood with Hermione and Lisa Turpin with Terry Boot. He quietly made his way over.

Penny smiled at him when she saw him.

"Good morning, Louis right?" She asked not unkindly. He nodded silently. "How was your first night? Did you sleep well?"

"Very, thank you. How about you?" Penelope answered the positive and thanked him for asking. Figuring the conversation was over after a moment of silence that neither of them broke, he turned his head to the others to listen in on their conversation.

"I wonder what our first classes will be like?" Lisa thought aloud, looking thoughtful as she looked at the two beside her. Terry shook his head.

"I just want to know what our classes _are_."

"I met a prefect on the train yesterday and he said that we would only be taking the basic lessons for now and learning simple spells and potions. He said first year was more about theory than anything." supplied Hermione, speaking somewhat quickly with an informed look upon her face.

Louis silently groaned at that statement though. He did not want to spend a year reviewing theory he probably already knew. It would get old really fast. If Hermione and this boy were right then he was going to have to look into other subjects and soon. He was prepared for this, of course, but he had thought it would be at least a few months before they were needed. He surely hoped that was the case.

For the next couple of minutes, Louis listened to Hermione, Terry, and Lisa talk about school and while he, for one, did not find this to be an interesting topic and had no intention of joining in, he made no move to leave and start a conversation with Penelope.

Once the other Ravenclaw first years came down, Penelope pulled the drawstring bag she had on her shoulders off and opened it up, pulling out different colored folders and passing one to each of them.

"These are a few things we thought would help you guys out. You have the map of the school that we promised, with the classrooms and corridors labeled as well as different routes you can take to get to them highlighted in assigned colors. We also included a sheet of common spells, with a pronunciation guide and an image of the wand movement. The heating charm is a pretty common one once it starts to really cool down. There's also a reading list of various books that we all found helpful in first year for your core subjects. We also included a few elective books on other countries, wizarding custom, and the likes, just to name a few. Professor Flitwick will give you your timetable and meeting times at breakfast."

With that, Penelope lead them through the door and down to the Great Hall for breakfast, pointing out the routes they could take to get to their classes along the way and pointing out identifying marks to help them should they be confused by their maps or forget. The walk there was quiet, save her comments, and they all huddled together in a soft, whispering mass of nerves.

The Great Hall was just as big as Louis had found it last night, in fact it looked bigger now. Looking up, he found the ceiling to be portraying a blue sky scattered with puffy white clouds that lazily moved along and out of it's edges. Following his peers, they were lead to the end of the table farthest from the door (which irked him but he got it. Seniors get seniority and all that jazz). Taking a seat on the very end and sitting himself by Padma, he reached out for the pitcher of orange juice and poured himself a goblet full. He thought it strange that the school still used goblets instead of just regular cups but as he had already noted, the whole of British Wizarding World seemed a bit behind in the times. Perhaps he could help change that later on.

Grabbing a slice of plain toast and a fried egg, Louis carefully cut the egg into pieces and ate it, following suite with the whole of the slice of toast. He drank his juice next and ignored the chatter around him, relishing in the rich yet plain taste of his food and hoping that it was light enough to keep down. He was, after all, used to cereal and fruit alone.

"Here you are Miss Granger," the diminutive squeak of voice said from his right, surprising him out of his thoughts. He looked up and noticed that Flitwick, who had been at the Staff table when they entered, was now passing out their timetables. He carried a heavy, thick stack of thin parchments ared to be struggling to walk normally with such a load. Louis, feeling a bit bad for the man, offered to help him carry them when he approached his side.

"Oh, why thank you Mr. Thompson but I can do it," the man replied with a kind grin as he passed a sheet over. "I'll be seeing you Thursday for your meeting!" Louis smiled as the man continued on, passing schedules out to the second years now.

Looking down at his hands, he focused on two more sheets of paper. The first one was a schedule, which he put to the side for a second, and the second was a short piece of parchment that said his meeting with Flitwick would be on Thursday at 4:35. Nodding, he placed that one in his folder, which he had placed in his bag after sitting down, and pulled out his map to look at it with his schedule.

Speaking of said schedule, Louis pushed his plate forward, out of his way, and slid the parchment over to look at it.

 _Mr. Louis Thompson_

 _First Year: Ravenclaw_

 _Monday:_

 _9:20-10:40 Transfiguration with Gryffindors_

 _11:10-12:30 History of Magic with Hufflepuff_

 _13:30-14:50 Herbology with Slytherin_

 _Tuesday:_

 _8:00-10:00 Potions with Hufflepuffs_

 _11:00-13:00 Defense Against the Darkest Arts with Slytherin_

 _14:30-16:30 Charms with Gryffindor_

 _Wednesday:_

 _9:20-10:40 Transfiguration with Gryffindors_

 _11:10-12:30 History of Magic with Hufflepuff_

 _13:30-14:50 Herbology with Slytherin_

 _23:00-24:00 Astronomy with Gryffindor (outdoors)_

 _Thursday:_

 _8:00-10:00 Potions with Hufflepuffs_

 _11:00-13:00 Defense Against the Darkest Arts with Slytherin_

 _14:30-16:30 Charms with Gryffindor_

 _Friday:_

 _7:30-8:30 Astronomy with Gryffindor (indoors)_

 _9:20-10:40 Transfiguration with Gryffindors_

 _11:10-12:30 History of Magic with Hufflepuff_

 _13:30-14:50 Herbology with Slytherin_

Smiling, Louis set the parchment down back onto the table, pleased. He had a fair amount of classes with each of the Houses, which would be interesting. It would be easy to keep himself away from others but still kind to Neville, since he had classes with the boy that would, most likely, not allow much talking or interaction, being potions and history.

 _Yes,_ he thought, _this would be quite easy._

* * *

His first week of classes were . . . interesting, for lack of a better word, he supposed. Thanks to the map given to them by Penelope, who later told them they could call her Penny, Louis and the first years were able to find their classes with not much of a problem, getting to all of them on time and prepared, which was a good thing considering the kind of school they went to. The castle of Hogwarts was unlike anything he had ever seen before, with moving staircases, a hundred and forty-two to be precise, that would randomly switch on you and try to head you in the wrong direction (or so he heard, since it hadn't happened to him yet). Some of the staircases had missing steps though, which he did meet, and he had to make sure not to step in the wrong place and watch his step, as he'd fall through if he wasn't paying enough attention. There were long corridors with many doors and next to no markings, which annoyed him a great deal but again, he was ever so thankful for this map. Some doors didn't open at all and most weren't even used. Louis planned on using one as his own work station, still secretly of course, though he hadn't picked a room as of yet. Some doors had something like a password on them, only opening if you gave the proper phrase of grabbed the right doorknob (as a few had more than three for some odd reason) or did something, like scratch the top right corner edge. It was both infuriating and exhilarating at the same time. Paintings that moved covered almost every inch of the walls that he had seen so far and he often saw them visiting each other and interacting, fighting painted dragons and dancing with beautiful women and talking over alcohol. Many of the paintings liked to call out to the students as they walked by and when he wasn't in a rush, Louis made a point to talk to them. He had even met a particularly interesting portrait the other day, but that was a story for another time. He was also sure that the armour that lined the corridors could walk, though he had no evidence to this.

Ghosts liked to sail above the students, some walking amongst them. The Gryffindor ghost, nearly Headless Nick, liked to talk with them and float beside them as if he were walking while the Fat Friar liked to float above, sailing and talking excitedly. Peeves the Poltergeist, though, didn't seem to like anyone really and enjoyed playing pranks constantly on the entire school. The Bloody Baron stalked the halls gloomily, not talking to anyone, and Louis hadn't even met the Ravenclaw ghost. There were several other ghosts that lived within the castle and made their way down the halls as well.

Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, would linger in the halls and scowl at the students as they walked by, cursing and yelling at anyone that either disturbed him or the castle. Louis had seen the man swore several times at a Hufflepuff third year when he had accidentally dropped his parchment, quill, and ink while rushing to finish his homework as he ran to class. The man threatened for all to hear about how his biggest wish was to hang them all by their ankles in the dungeons. Louis thought he was quite bitter.

Filch had a cat, Mrs. Norris, who was a very musty color, somewhere between gray and brown, and she liked to follow children around and hiss at them. Surprisingly, she had allowed him to pet her the other day when the hall was empty and Louis figured he quite liked her, despite her choice in owners.

The classes themselves though were something else. Louis's first class at Hogwarts was Transfiguration with the Gryffindors, the day being a Monday, and he had quickly realized that while he would enjoy the class, he was already far above his peers. Professor McGonagall had started out the class by transforming out of her animagus form, which happened to be the cat that had watched them all walk in from the desk at the front of the class, and giving a brief but serious speech on the importance and complexities of transfiguration, stressing how dangerous it could be but explaining that it could be quite interesting. She proceeded to turn one of the student's desks into a horse that neighed and took a couple of steps forward before McGonagall turned it back. The girl who had been sitting at it, Padma's sister, Parvati, had to scoot it back towards herself with a huff. After that, McGonagall began the theory of transfiguration, discussing how they were to go about transforming one thing to another. She briefly discussed the difficulty one would have when changing from one state of matter to another, which he knew a great deal on, but informed them that they would all start by working with solids. After an hour of taking notes, she passed out rough matchsticks that she instructed them on how to turn into needles.

As Louis watched his peers wave their wands around with frustrated frowns, tongues peeking out of lips and eyes squinting, he realized how much he really knew. They were so far behind him, just now learning to control the basic's of their magic's. They didn't know what he did and he was baffled by it. Even before he had met Shira and she had passed over books for him to study from he had been deeply connected with his magical core, had grasped the magic within so easily and efficiently, that it honestly shocked him that they couldn't do that. He had assumed that it was like that for all magicals, that everyone would feel what he did and that they would access what he did roughly within the same time frame, and yet . . . and yet . . . they didn't.

Looking down at his matchstick, Louis had waved his wand with a loose but deliberate sweep, tucking it in at the end, with a clear pronunciation of the spell, _Altearah_ , and watched as the matchstick turned into a thin, silver needle, complete with an eye and all. McGonagall had awarded him a smile and 10 points to Ravenclaw and by the end of the class, only Hermione managed anything, turning her match silver and somewhat pointed, earning Ravenclaw another five points.

They had History of Magic next, where the class was taught by a ghost of all things, He had been excited when he realized that, expecting the man to have lived through a great deal and thus be extremely knowledgeable, but had been disappointed when all the ghost did was speak in a deep, monotone voice as he talked about Goblin Rebellions, which only covered the eighth and ninth chapters of their textbook. Neville had sat beside him in that class, doodling in the margins of his notes, which weren't very long, before slumping over and falling asleep, which resulted in some ink smears on his collar, much to Louis's amusement. Many people fell asleep in that class, Louis, Hermione, Padma, and Lavender being the only ones to last to the end, though Hermione and Lavender had dozed off a few times and Padma had dropped her ink after slumping forward, which woke her and Hermione up enough to continue on. Louis planned on reading the book next time during class and casting a charm to muffle off Binns.

Herbology with the Slytherins was a fun affair, the class being taught by the Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Sprouts. She was a very kind and patient woman that smiled at all of them and held a great deal of passion for her subject, explaining in simple but in-depth detail of the plants they would be working with that year. They had gone over lab safety for the first class but Louis was sure he would enjoy the class, at least a little.

The following morning, Louis had his first potions lesson. Professor Snape was perhaps the most terrifying and hilarious human being Louis had ever encountered. The man had swept into the room with billowing robes, slamming the door against the wall in his wake, which resulted in it slamming shut, and then giving a very impressive speech of potion making before giving a pop quiz that they had all passed. Throughout the next two hours, Snape went over safety procedures for the lesson (after a question from Terry Boot) and started them on their first potion that they had all had to put under stasis, or well Snape had to put them under stasis as no one, not even Louis, knew the spell, though he did now after his second lesson. Snape had gone about the room during their brewing, snapping at Hufflepuffs for improper ingredient preparation and Ravenclaws for not following their magic and sticking too close to the letter or not properly following the procedure. By the end of class, three Hufflepuffs and one Ravenclaw had cried and everyone looked somewhat chastened. Louis, while thinking the man a bastard, found some of his muttered comments to be quite funny. He wasn't suppose to hear those though so he couldn't laugh, not that he would even if he was supposed to have heard them. The two Houses had already lost ten points, no need for him to make it more. At the end, there was the general agreement by many that potions would not be a very good class, though he was on the fence.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a bust as Professor Quirrel spent a great deal of time muttering and stuttering, which made it difficult for anyone to really understand what the man was saying sometimes. He talked a lot about vampires but the most Louis learned in that class was the rumour that the man was wearing a turban full of garlic opposed to an empty one. He supposed that that class would also be one to learn from the book and his self-practice rather than the traditional classroom setting, though he tried not to judge too quickly. Perhaps Quirrell would improve over time? Maybe he was just nervous? Considering that no one lasted more than a year, if that, at the Defense post, he couldn't exactly blame the man. More than one professor had died in that post. Tragic.

Louis greatly enjoyed his Charm's class, which Professor Flitwick taught with an endless amount of energy. Their first lesson was spent covering the groundwork of charms, how it first started out, and the telling of a few stories on charms gone wrong. Flitwick also gave many examples that they would learn later on, both within the year and the years following. It hadn't been a very involved lesson but Louis felt like he would enjoy the class immensely.

Astronomy was a class unlike anything else he had taken for it occurred for two days alone, and not very long at that, and one of those days was spent outside, after curfew, with telescopes, examining the stars above and charting them out. The other class was spent inside at a regular time to discuss the stars, the stories behind them, and the significance of the stars in relation to other areas of magic and magic herself. It was interesting, to a degree, but Louis would rather be in bed.

On Thursday afternoon, directly following his Charms lesson, Louis found himself seated across from Flitwick with a cup of tea placed on a dainty saucer in his hand and a plate of biscuits between himself and the short man.

"How are you finding yourself, Louis?" Flitwick began kindly, taking a sip of his tea.

"I've been good, sir. I'm really liking Hogwarts. It's brilliant." And it was. The school was full of so many different things that it was impossible to have discovered them all. He was sure it held many secrets and he wanted to find out about as many of them as she would let him.

"Thanks good, Louis. Have you made any new friends?"

Louis smiled slightly. "Not really, sir. I'm friendly with Neville Longbottom but that's only in class. I'm okay with that though. I have time to make friends." He was lying, of course. Louis had no intention of making friends. There was no sense in it. He would either be leaving here for Beauxbatons next year or so or he would disappear and reappear as Harry potter with no one knowing the difference, or should he say similarities? He wouldn't put any friends through that and he wouldn't put himself through that. It would be too hard. He could tell anyone his secret, he knew what the Ministry did to metamorphagi and what many people in general did and he knew what they really wanted Harry Potter for and he didn't want to be exposed like that, didn't want to have the chance. If he couldn't trust people enough to tell them, and he couldn't, then it was best to stay away.

"True, true. Enjoy your time. You'll make friends in no time." Flitwick nodded and Louis smiled thinly at him, neither agreeing or disagreeing. "Are you enjoying your classes? No troubles yet, I hope?"

He smiled. "No, sir. No trouble at all. I find the classes to be quite interesting though I am a bit worried that they won't be challenging enough for me." he replied honestly. Flitwick nodded slowly, finished his tea, and set it down on his desk.

"Would you care to elaborate, Louis?" He shifted a bit awkwardly in his seat for a minute, taking a sip of his still hot tea before replying.

"It's just . . . I've found the practical work to be easy in all my classes so far, I've even read a head and everything's worked for me. The theory is simple and basic. I'm just worried I won't have my expectations met for a while and by then I would have fulfilled them myself."

Flitwick gave another nod before sighing. "The problem with Ravenclaw House is that we have many overachievers and researchers. A few of your peers have expressed similar worries and many ravenclaws before you have also done so, but as your magical career continues you will find it becomes more difficult. Things may seem a bit easy now but you're only just starting out. Things will become a bit more challenging soon, Louis, don't worry." And he nodded, knowing that's what the man expected of him, even though he didn't agree. Because Louis knew that he wasn't just bored for now, that he was just simply a little ahead. He knew he would face any real difficulties anytime soon and that worried him. For now, though, he would push it to the side and continue on. He was at Hogwarts for a reason, after all, and unlike everyone else, it wasn't to learn magic.

* * *

That Friday, after his last class of the day, Louis read over Cho Chang's shoulder of the break-in at Gringott's and found his interest peaked as he saw Headmaster Dumbledore frown at Snape, McGonagall's lips tighten, Quirrel shiver, and Hagrid, the groundskeeper, look at Dumbledore with an odd expression on his face. Perhaps Hogwarts wouldn't be so boring after all.

He grinned and dipped his pork chop in his apple pie filling with gusto.

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait. I was really busy with school. I have a trip to DC next week so I might update then. If not, the next update will be in roughly two weeks. Maybe sooner if I get some random drive at 2:00 am, which is usually the case. Next up are flying lessons, some history, and a bit more.**

 **Question: should we put Louis on the Quidditch team? I like the idea of him as seeker still but I've never written a quidditch scene so I'm not sure how that'd go to be honest. I don't see myself being hyped about them.**

 **So quidditch team or no? Your choice. Whatever gets the most reviews will be it.**

 **Please review.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

On the third Thursday of the month, Louis had his first ever flying lesson.

Now, this wasn't exactly important in any of his plans but he was a young boy, almost a teenager, and sports were something that interested him. He had never been able to go flying, even though Shira introduced him to many things she hadn't been able to teach him this. He lived in a muggle orphanage and she didn't live anywhere, just went from hotel to hotel, so it wasn't like they could fly in their backyards. So it was with nicely concealed vigor that he showed up to his flying lesson, two minutes earlier than his fellow Ravenclaws and there were no Hufflepuffs there yet either.

There were two rows of brooms being laid out, as Madam Hooch, according to Cho, was still setting things up and conveniently ignoring his presence. Taking a look at them, he saw that some were oddly discolored from age and others had little pieces of sticks poking out from the rest of the frames. Both of those were highly dangerous and, not wanting to have to deal with such a thing, he rushed to locate the finest one of the lot, which happened to be a broom near the end. It had a few clearly seen rough patches and was lighter than it should be in color but he figured that was his best bet.

"Louis!" A voice yelled from across the yard and he looked up in surprise to see a grinning Neville, waving his hand around, walking towards him with Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, and Hermione. He felt his eye twitch a little in irritation at the possibility of having to deal with so many people but pushed the feeling aside, not wanting to put a damper on anyone's mood.

"Hey Neville." He greeted the boy in a soft tone and with a nod once they approached him.

"How have you been, mate?" Neville, Louis noted, looked significantly better since he had first seen him on the train. There, the boy has been shy and nervous, and while one could chalk such a thing up to nerves of starting Hogwarts, he had known that that way what the boy was like. Now, Neville still twitched a little uncomfortably with his anxiety around other people but he was definitely much more comfortable. Making friends with the girls beside him seemed like it did wonders for his confidence, even if it was still building. Hufflepuff was good for him.

"I've been well. You?" He had a few classes with the boy and while they sat next to each other in History of Magic, there wasn't any chance for talking as it was always silent in that room, save for the snores, and so everyone would hear. He didn't work with Neville in potions, having been partnered with Lavender Brown on that first day and the two having had decided to continue to work together since they were both competent and didn't bother the other uselessly, so he didn't get to talk with him in there either, not that they could anyway. Snape was vicious. He was honestly curious for the boy who decided was his to protect, even if said boy didn't know or need it.

"Good, good. You excited for flying?" Here, Neville surprised him by scowling at the brooms.

"You don't look too excited," He teased, grinning a little at the boy's hostility. Neville shook his head, even as he approached the broom to Louis's left. Behind him, Louis saw Susan and Hannah grab the brooms directly in front of the boys and Hermione grab the one on Neville's left. She too did not look like she wanted to be here. That surprised him somewhat, as the girl had been overly excited for all of their classes (he understood on some level. It was _magic_ after all) but he supposed her packing around a book on Quidditch and flying, spouting off a bunch of facts to herself and others, had something to do with it. Maybe she had a fear of heights? He mentally shook his head to focus.

"I'm not. My uncle tried to teach me a few times but they always ended up with me falling off. I don't have the best balance." Neville mumbled the last part, cheeks burning pink in embarrassment. Louis smiled at him.

"Still better that me. I've never tried." That seemed to cheer the boy up a bit but before he could respond to Louis, Hannah interrupted, asking Neville something that he couldn't quite pick out as her voice sounded strained and she mumbled. As the Hufflepuffs, and soon Hermione, were drawn back into their own conversation, Louis tipped his head back and enjoyed the feeling of the warm sun on his face, tickling his cheeks with kisses and grazing up and down his arms. There was no real breeze, though every now and then a lazy one would curl itself around his spine, and the day was beautiful. Perfect flying weather, as Roger Davies, a third year, had declared happily that morning.

He watched as more and more of their classmates showed up, all in pairs or groups, and they lingered around the brooms, not quite approaching, and Madam Hooch glared at them and barked at them to hurry up and pick a broom, that they were starting.

For the next hour, Louis saw people have their grips and position of their brooms adjusted, and when it was time to hover above the ground, to truly begin practicing the actual flying bit, he felt a jolt of excitement (he also leaned over a told Neville to calm down and loosen his grip. The boy was strangling his broom and it was beginning to shake in protest). They slowly rose above the ground and did a few lazy laps around the courtyard, small circles at first and then progressing to larger ovals. By the end of the class, Louis was smiling, face red with excitement and exertion, and received a pat on the back by Madam Hooch, who was smirking down at him with bright eyes.

"You're a natural, Mr. Thompson. You should think about Quidditch. I'd bet you could join this year if you tried, probably any position too." She said proudly before walking off.

Following behind Neville and his friends silently, Louis considered her words. He did enjoy flying and Quidditch had somewhat interested him. But Cho, he knew, was the seeker. Roger was Chaser and their Captain was a Beater. They already had their whole team, full of people that had been on it last year as well. They were familiar with each other, enjoyed each other's company, he had seen this at dinner, and he didn't want to disrupt that. Besides, he had enough to deal with. He had a lot to look into and he didn't want to risk the chance of getting too comfortable here. It would be worse for everyone involved when he left.

Shaking his head, he went to dinner.

* * *

He had been at the school for over a month now, the date being almost halfway through October, and a great deal had happened during that time.

Louis excelled in his classes, easily being the top of them all, much to Hermione's chagrin. The poor girl seemed to decide that he was her competition and so tried her hardest to beat him. She was constantly studying, more so than she had been at the start, which was still saying something, and she fought with renewed vigor. He didn't mind as she was up in his face about it or acting rude towards him or anything but he was sure that it wasn't exactly healthy, as she tended to study at mealtimes too, forgetting to eat as much as she should, and so he promised to talk to Flitwick about his concerns. Competition never hurt anybody until, you know, it did.

He had written a letter to Shira on the last day of September, having had promised the vampire that he'd write to her once a month. He liked Shira, the woman being the only one to have tried to do anything for him, but he didn't exactly trust her with all of his secrets. She knew the big ones, the ones he kept closest to his chest, like his real identity and the metamorphagus powers, but that was mostly because he hadn't known to keep them quiet. Shira had been an ally to Voldemort. She had been deep with information and though she never told him where she received it from, he knew that it wasn't from Voldemort himself. She didn't like the man, not as a person or a leader anyway, but he had been important to the vampire community during the last war and so they had sided with him, somewhat. Shira called the man a genius gone mad. He had started out with great ideas but lost his way as he aged, as he delved too deep into the Dark Arts, became too focused on a stupid prophecy. A prophecy that, Louis himself, wasn't going to worry about for now, probably not let himself be dictated by. It had already been set into motion, though, and so he knew it couldn't be ignored. Shora had provided him with a lot of information but he knew she would side with whatever suited her people the most, even if that side wasn't his.

Shira wasn't the only magical creature he had interacted with. About a week ago, he had been walking back from the library when the staircases randomly shifted to lead him to a door. He didn't understand why, as the staircases were almost always silent by this time of day, but he felt a warm brush against his magic and so he continued forward, thinking the castle was trying to tell him something. He knew she was sentient, anyone that paid enough attention and just listened would know such a thing. In hindsight, though, he probably shouldn't have listened to a piece of architecture as he was lead to the third floor corridor and managed to come face to face with a giant, three-headed dog. Talk about surprise. Of course, he had noticed the trapdoor the dog was guarding, one of its giant paws planted firmly in front of it, and decided it wasn't a total bust. Hogwarts was a school and yet, here they were, hiding something. Something important. According to the books, Hogwarts was one of the safest places in Europe, besides the other wizarding school and Gringotts, that is. With that in mind, he wondered if the door had anything to do with the break-in at the goblin bank. He wouldn't be surprised.

And so, with an interesting adventure laying itself in front of him, Louis decided it was high time to start searching for his own training room. There were plenty of unused classrooms around the school and he could draw runes with some earth based paint around the doorframes to keep people out, though that would take some time to acquire. He walked around the school, trying to narrow his search down, and eventually settled on picking a room near the History of Magic classroom, knowing patrols weren't down there often and that the room was close to the library and closer than some other rooms to Ravenclaw tower.

He had found a room after a couple of days and a week later had started setting everything up, making sure to disguise it as much as he could since he wasn't able to draw the runes yet, still waiting for his mixing bowls he had ordered with Cho's owl. While he was adjusting some table cloths to hide the potions cauldron he was planning on using, the door had opened and he flinched, wishing he had placed more locking charms and the like upon it and spun around. Inching through the doorway were two red headed boys, both with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. They stopped when they saw him, eyes widening a bit in surprise at finding the room occupied but then their faces broke out into grins that looked too mischievous to be innocent and they quickly shut the door before making their way towards him. He blinked, surprised that they had somehow made to stand in front of him in a matter of seconds. What?

"Well, well, what-" The one of the left began, looking down at him.

"-do we have here?" The right twin finished with a grin.

Louis blinked. "Just a student. Casually standing in this room. Looking for ghosts."

The one of the right raised an eyebrow and his grin stretched into something akin to pleased. "Ghosts, huh?"

"Yep. Ghosts." Gosh, he was awful.

"What's that you're hiding there, ickle firstie?" The left twin asked, peering down at the table that he was standing in front of. Louis resisted the urge to move in front of it and stayed silent. He was sure that if he were to open his mouth all that would escape would be the obvious lie of "nothing!"

The two boys circled themselves around him to peer under the table, where they pulled the sheet back and found the cauldron, as well as the books and notebooks that were haphazardly tucked under the back corner.

"Ooh, brewing illegal potions are we?" The left twin said.

"Studying the dark arts?" Continued the right.

"Excellent!" They cheered together and Louis fought the slight smile that threatened to rear itself.

"Not at all. Just studying what I'm not supposed to understand." He said honestly. These two struck him as the kind to spot out lies easily. Their blaise attitude also suggested that they wouldn't really care what he was doing. Short of murder, he suspected they wouldn't give a damn at all.

The twins turned their heads to look back at the books and he knew they were reading the actual titles this time for they turned back to him with surprised faces.

"Grade 4, firstie?"

"Must be a genius, huh?"

He smirked not unkindly. "You could say that. I wouldn't though."

The twins didn't say anything, just turned back towards each other. They exchanged an array of raised eyebrows, pointed looks, and lip twitched as well as head nods before reaching some kind of agreement.

The left twin held out his hand. "Fred Weasley. Third year Gryffindor."

The right twin threw his hand across his brother's, forming a strange sort of X with their limbs. "George Weasley. Also a third year Gryffindor."

Louis grinned and crossed his arms, reaching out to shake both of their hands at once. "Louis Thompson. Ravenclaw. First year."

They all exchanged grins and bright eyes and in that moment, Louis knew he had done something big. He had met some important people.

He wouldn't know, for many years, that they would be his first real friends and somehow, Fred and George knew that too.

* * *

Having the famous Weasley twins of Hogwarts secretly on your side was a giant plus, Louis learned. No one knew that he had come to call the pair acquaintances, meeting up in old, abandoned classrooms throughout the week and after curfew to look over old tombs and discuss potions. Fred and George were geniuses, Louis thought, to be able to think up the things that they did. They wanted to open up a joke shop one day, he knew, and they were starting to design their own merchandise. They had all sorts of ideas, all sorts of potions and candies and pranks. Louis, while only a first year, knew a great deal about potions and as such was able to give them a fresh set of eyes and help them with their research, In exchange, they would provide him with more advanced books and help him cast some new spells should he require the help. It was a fair trade and he began to look forward to their meetings.

They never talked outside of those dusty rooms or even asked him questions inside of them and for that, Louis was grateful. He wouldn't call them friends, he hardly knew anything about them, but he would safely regard them as business partners. They each made the other's life a bit more manageable and neither side pried, making the arrangement perfect for all three of them.

It was about two weeks after his first meeting with the two that he made his way inside the library, bag slung over his shoulders and a leather bound journal in one arm, hand clutching at it's side. He walked up to the librarian's desk, someone he who didn't know the name of despite the amount of times he had been in here (it was honestly embarrassing but he refused to ask anyone), and asked her where he could find old newspapers and school records.

"Far right corner. Second shelf. Put them away neatly when you're finished." She informed him flatly, looking over her glasses at him in a way that suggested she was bored and annoyed with his very existence. Ignoring that, Louis gave her a thankful smile and walked off.

There was a table against the wall near the corner with a magnifying glass lamp atop it that he placed his bag on. Walking over to the above mentioned shelf, Louis ran his fingertips across the spines of the heavy, large looking books, reading the titles for the right ones. There were many books, over eight very long rows full on just this one shelf and on the bottom four rows were stacks of boxes labeled by year. He assumed those were the newspapers. Finally, on the second shelf (third from the corner) on the fifth row from the bottom, Louis found the books he was looking for and after three trips to his table, was able to gather them all up before returning for the proper newspapers.

After ten minutes of searching and flipping, Louis found himself sitting at the table with seven brown leather books stacked up against the wall and a pile of about fifteen different newspaper editions next to them and the lamp. The lamp, which he saw had no bulb but did have a small glass ring that filled with light when he casted lumos. A magical lamp apparently. Sliding the top book over, he ran his hand over the thin gold letters that ran across near the top of its cover.

 _ **Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry: 1971**_

He opened the book up with some effort and turned through the pages, looking for the section of first years and after about twenty flips or so he found them. He ran his eyes over the column of names, looking for the ones that he would whisper in secret and there, underneath the rose gold heading of Gryffindor, were the two names he had choked up at.

Lily Evans and James Potter. His parents.

It was just there names, printed in black calligraphy, but to see them, to know that they had walked these exact same halls as him, was more than he could describe. He had known, logically, that his parents had gone here, that they had learned the same things he was now, that they had eaten at the same tables and studied in the same seats, but to have the proof looking up at him was something else, something more. He couldn't believe it and yet how could he not?

He felt extremely alone right then and for the first time, he really wished he wasn't Louis Thompson but rather Harry Potter.

Louis was a muggleborn orphan that lived in France. An orphan that didn't need to know a thing about his parents and didn't want to either. He was a muggleborn that strived in magic, being the top of his class easily. Louis was the apparent rival of one Hermione Granger (to her anyway) and had no friends. Louis was a quiet boy that ate alone, sat alone, and studied alone. Louis was a secret partner to the Weasley twins. He was a boy that hid in abandoned classrooms and poured himself over advanced books and steamy cauldrons. Louis had no desire for Quidditch, had a cuddly tiger cub, and talked to snakes with attitude problems. Louis who was good at stealing and hated eating, more than just because he couldn't eat much. Louis was perpetually alone and he liked it.

Except he wasn't Louis. He was Harry. Harry Potter.

Harry who was a halfblood orphan that had been abused and abandoned in a foreign country. Harry who had parents that loved him, that died for him. Harry who survived the killing curse and was famous. Harry who had a prophecy over his shoulder and a whole entire army against him. Harry who was worshipped by some and wanted dead by others. Harry who loved flying and Quidditch. Harry who wanted to befriend Neville and talk with Hermione and cause mischief with the twins. Harry who drowned himself in hot showers and scrubbed himself raw. Harry who had nightmares and screamed. Harry who was a metamorphagus. Harry who was terrified of being alone and wanted someone to know.

As Louis, he couldn't ask anyone about Lily and James Potter. He couldn't ask his teachers if they had taught them or gone to school with them. He couldn't ask about their friends or send letters to people, asking questions. He couldn't ask what their favorite colors were or if they preferred coffee over tea. He couldn't ask if his mother loved knit sweaters or t-shirts. He couldn't ask if his father had any tattoos or scars. He couldn't ask if they had played Quidditch or what classes they were good at or if they had ever regretted having a baby in a war. He couldn't ask anyone a single real thing about them. They were Harry's parents, not Louis's, and, according to Dumbledore and the Daily Prophet, Harry Potter was receiving special training in America.

He wanted to let his features fade away. He wanted his eyes to sharpen and brighten up with color, becoming a brilliant shade of green. He wanted his hair to spring up and bounce around, darkening into a raven colored mess. He wanted his lips to become rosy again and his cheekbones to sharpen. He wanted his skin to pale, just a little, and his height to drop and his skinny frame to become skinnier. He wanted to be Harry again.

But he knew the cost of that and as much as he wanted to ask, to know more, he knew that he couldn't. He had to stay Louis. He had to. Harry and Lily and James could wait. They would have to. Maybe, if he told himself that enough, it would become true. Maybe he'd believe it.

Probably not.

Sighing, he pushed those thoughts away and returned to the book before him. He may not be able to ask questions, but he could still do research and try to find out what he could alone.

Flipping through the pages that covered the first years, he was able to discover that his mother and father had gone to school with Professor Snape (he repressed an annoyed frown at that). His mother had been second in potions and the top student in Charms her first year. His father had been top of Transfiguration. His mother came in second in their overall class for the year and his father received third. There were no pictures of his parents, though they did have a few pictures of some other students, and so he closed the book and grabbed the one that was meant to cover their second year, which basically had the exact same thing as the first and still no pictures. He did learn that his father was a chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, though as a reserve anyway (which was why he wasn't in the picture).

Their third year, his mother had received the top spot for charms and arithmancy and his father retained transfiguration and gained Defense Against the Dark Arts. His mother held the second place spot and his father the first for their year group. His dad had also gained an official spot as one of the main Chasers that year, according to the team picture anyway. He traced his father's name and, for the second time in his life, he saw a picture of the man. He had a face almost exactly like his son's, with a heart shaped face and straight eyebrows and black, messy hair. He wasn't smiling in the picture, none of the team was, but it was the best picture he had ever seen.

The rest of the books covered roughly the same thing. Slowly, his parents gained the top spot in almost all of the classes and his father stayed on the Quidditch team, taking the Captain spot his sixth year. He flipped through the pages and books and watched as his mother joined the Charms Club and whatever the Slug Club was and Gobstones and became a prefect her fifth year with a sickly looking boy. The first picture he saw of her was in her fourth year as she laughed with a short haired girl, quill tucked behind her ear. She had light red hair that was pulled back into a messy bun, though loose curls framed her face. Bright green eyes danced with mirth as she dipped her head back and laughed. He smiled, comparing his own eyes and cheeks to hers, as they had a similar bone structure (he was quite literally a perfect mix of his parents). Turns out, she preferred t-shirts with cardigans. His father popped up again, besides the Quidditch picture that is, during their fifth year. In that picture, he was with three other boys in what he recognized as the Transfiguration classroom. His father was sitting on the back of a chair, his feet in the seat, and was shoving a tall dark haired boy that stood next to him in a leather jacket. Before them, was a table that had a sandy blonde haired boy with scars on his face at it and cross legged on the floor, sat a slightly plump boy with blonde hair that was snickering up at them as his friend rolled his eyes. Looking at the caption, he found their names and wrote them down, intending to write to them later. The last book he looked in held the first and only picture of his parents together. They stood with their backs straight and shoulders pulled back. His father had his arm thrown across his mother's shoulders and they were grinning, sneaking glances at each other. The caption and gold badges pinned to their chests dubbed them as the Head Boy and Girl.

After the books, Louis pulled the newspapers close to him and cast a lumos into the lamp, lighting it up so that he could better read the fading ink. He flipped through paper after paper, reading about the rise of Voldemort and the war that was escalating quickly. He read about mysterious deaths and people going missing, muggle towns raided and homes burned to the ground. He read about the carnage and piles of bodies after random attacks. He read about people murdered in the night, friends that vanished into thin air, and people tortured into insanity until it all just abruptly cut off. He read the newspaper article that was written late into the night of Halloween, 1981, thirty minutes before November 1 came about. He read about the lost of his parents and the survival of baby Harry and the supposed death of Voldemort, all verified by Albus Dumbledore himself, complete with a picture of the tarnished house. He went to the next paper, which covered the next day, and read about the Longbottoms and their new permanent stay in St. Mungos thanks to the infamous Lestranges (he jotted those names dowd too). He read about the mass murder committed by Sirius Black, he betrayed his friends, all of them, and was sent to Azkaban for the deaths of 13 muggles, Peter Pettigrew, and the aid of Lily and James Potter's death. He drew a circle around Black's name and Pettigrew's, planning to look further into it. His stack ended on the next paper, which discussed the still ongoing celebrations, Death Eater trials and hunts, and the questions surrounding little Harry Potter.

He silently and slowly packed the papers up, placing them neatly back into their drawers. He unlit the lamp, tucking his wand into the holster on his forearm, and stacked the books into his arms, sliding them back onto the shelves with a straight, emotionless face. He didn't feel a thing as he slid his arms through the loops of his backpack, tucking the short piece of paper of names into it's side pocket, and walked out, barely gracing the librarian with a nod of farewell and thanks. His feet hit the cold stone floors, echoing loudly against the empty halls as he headed up to Ravenclaw Tower. He went straight to bed that night, ignoring Sanguini's hisses and Natasha's mews, sliding beneath the covers and wrapping them around his head. He stared down at the floor, barely feeling Nat as she nudged his nose with hers and Sanguin who curled around his head. He blinked and breathed, not thinking of anything and not feeling anything either as he refused to fall asleep, wanting to just lay there. He didn't go to dinner than night, ignoring the knocks on his door that came to remind him before and offered leftovers after. He just laid there and stared.

He felt alone that night and he wasn't sure if it would ever fade. He wasn't sure he wanted it to.

 **A/N: Not the best but igh. I had a bit more to include for this chapter but I decided to save it for the next. Sorry about the wait, my trip got in the way and I have some tests and big papers due soon so I'm a bit busy.**

 **Also, a few people reviewed and I wanted to address some issues. One of you said I shouldn't rant in my author notes and well . . . I did that once and people were being rude. It most likely won't happen again but I don't need to be treated harshly so I'm not just going to sit and take it. Just saying. Another said they didn't agree with some of my decisions in this story and proceeded to tell me what I should have done or could do to change it and let me just say that this is my story and it's written how I want it. Don't like it, don't read. Go make your own if it's that important to you. I don't care.**

 **Next chapter is more parents and Neville plus a new acquaintance! Do you guys want the information on Sanguini next chap too or would you like him to have his own chapter (as that would work)? I'm more for next but you might like the stand alone better. Either works. What do you guys think so far? Have anything you want to see? I can tell you if it's coming or try to include it if it fits in!**

 **Please review.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _Master Teller Adon,_

 _I'm not sure if you remember me but I go by the name of Louis Thompson and I was wondering if you could send me all personal artifacts, such as journals, books, and any treasured possessions that you know of, of the parents of the individual we discussed. It would be much appreciated. I have included 20 galleons for this as well as your discretion on the matter._

 _Thank you for your services and may your gold always flow,_

 _Louis Thompson_

* * *

Sanguini had known Louis for years. He was the only one to call the boy Harry, should he find a need to use the child's actual name that is. Snakes had no use for such customs but the two-leggers took to it well so he obliged the hatchling every once in awhile.

He was a remarkable child and a superb caretaker for the reptile. His previous "owner" had been a particularly . . . obsessive man, one that studied potions and chemistry. The man had used Sanguini in many of his experiments, having him taste things and give up scales and venom. He didn't remember his time in Belgium very well, he tried his hardest to forget, but one of his greatest memories was of sinking his fangs into the fat man's hand, killing him quite quickly and painfully. Sanguini was a very venomous snake, he knew that his breed, as the humans called it, was one of the most dangerous in the world and while he didn't know the actual term himself, why would he?, he was sure that it was impressive.

Before the fat scientist had taken him from his home, he had been somewhere hot. Very hot. His mother had left early on, as she had no reason to stay for it wasn't the way of snakes, and his siblings had quickly dispersed, though one of them had attempted to eat another. He had been alone for a long time and he didn't mind. Preferred it actually. That was one of the reasons he got along with the boy so easily. They knew when to stay away from the other, when alone time was wanted.

Though Sanguini supposed it was nice to have someone intelligent to talk to. The wild animals in the hot place hadn't been very intelligent whatsoever and the animals he had been fed just panicked, not that he blamed them of course, and scurried about, away from him. Louis - _Harry_ \- could speak his language, his tongue, and hold a decent conversation. He had learned much from the fat man about human science, had gained a deeper understanding of their world, his world, by listening to the man's lectures and meetings with other two leggers and he had helped pass that knowledge onto Harry. The child was smart. Not that he was surprised. He was _his_ hatchling after all. He had helped that boy grow, had helped him learn to mimic some of his hunting habits so that the child could be more stealthy, had talked to him in the early start of the mornings, had comforted him after nightmares, had sought revenge with him. They were extremely close, even when it didn't exactly look like it.

It was because of the time that they had been together that he knew the boy so well and as such could easily spot when something was wrong. His child had been quieter lately, more so than usual. Sure, he didn't talk much to the other two-leggers anyway but he had begun to stay silent when Sanguini tried to talk to him in their room. The boy would stare at the ceiling for hours and hours on end, saying nothing and not moving, and wouldn't go to sleep until a few hours before he had to wake. He skipped meals and took longer showers. He started reading different books, no longer looking at the big picture but focusing in on certain targets, certain subjects, narrowing himself. He would tuck his quills behind his ears, something he knew annoyed the boy, and started messing up his hair, or rather, putting less thought into straightening it out. He had dominated his classes before, but now he did it even more so. Especially in the class with the cat-woman and short man. The room with the weird smells also brought his child to his best, making potions. He excelled in those classes the most and he watched as the boy had more eyes turned to him, more praise throw by the professors. He would spend hours in the back of the dusty room, flipping through books and staring at pictures and making copies of newspaper articles. His boy was getting obsessed and Sanguini didn't like it. It was unhealthy and he wasn't going to have a skinny, weak child. They never survived after all.

* * *

Louis closed his third book on Transfiguration with a sigh and slipped it into his bag as Professor McGonagall dismissed the class. Standing up, he slung the bag over one of his shoulders and stepped to the side, intent on leaving to go to the library again. He had more to learn on Voldemort today.

"Mr. Thompson?" A soft voice said from behind him and he turned his head to see the professor standing in front of her desk, arms folded, and looking at him with sharp, grey eyes.

"Yes ma'am?" He said politely, spinning around completely to face her. He may have things to do but that didn't warrant any rudeness. Sanguini had taught him better.

"You have been doing very well in class, Mr. Thompson. You have since you got here, of course, but I've noticed a slight increase recently. You're putting more thought into your transfigurations. They are very detailed." She spoke, pausing to take a minute to walk around and sit down.

"Thank you, ma'am." He dipped his head, a small, forced smile gracing his lips.

"It's not just my class either. Professor Flitwick and Snape have both commented on it in addition to the usual praise you receive. You spend a great deal of time in library, don't you Mr. Thompson?" She levelled him with a flat stare and he suspected that she was asking more than was said. He swallowed thickly.

"No more than anyone else, ma'am. I _was_ put in Ravenclaw for a reason." He pointed out with a raised eyebrow, returning the look back at her. She smiled but it seemed too forced to him.

"True. According to Madam Pince you've spent the last two weeks in there for several hours, skipping dinner, and flipping through the old yearbooks and newspapers. Is there anything you're looking for specifically, I'm sure she could help you narrow your search? You shouldn't spend all your time in the library, after all. You need to hang out with your friends as well. And eat." Ah. She was worried about him. He threw a soft smile onto his face and hoped she believed it.

He couldn't tell her that he was devouring the small amount of pictures he could see of his parents. He couldn't tell her that he was trying to learn as much as he could about them, to understand them. He couldn't tell her that he was looking into their friends. He couldn't tell her that he was going to owl Remus Lupin. He couldn't tell her that he was going to figure out what went wrong and how Black and Pettigrew fit into it. He couldn't tell her that he was flipping through old case files and trials, jotting down names. He couldn't tell her that he was going to avenge the Longbottoms for Neville, since it was his fault anyway. He couldn't tell her that he was learning as much as he could about the Dark Side and his parents killer. He couldn't tell her that he was trying to figure out what happened that Halloween night. He couldn't tell her that he wanted revenge. He couldn't tell her anything because she wouldn't understand. He was Louis Thompson, after all, and that was all Harry Potter's business, not his.

"Just looking for stuff on the founders, ma'am. Hogwarts is such a brilliant place, I'm so thankful to be here. Guess I'm just curious."

They traded a look and small smiles, both knowing he was lying. "You should read Hogwarts A History then, Louis."

 _Louis._

"I will. Thank you, ma'am."

He left with silent footsteps and a shaky smile. He could feel her eyes on his back.

* * *

He received the packages from Gringotts a few days after he sent the letter. Master Teller Adon had replied back with a short statement and a billing receipt. He had tossed that aside, fed the owl with some treats he had borrowed from Cho, and used a cutting hex to open the box up, allowing the seals to be ripped away and his blood to fall to cancel the added protection ward. Inside, he found a stack of old journals, all varying shades of brown and different materials, a small jewelry box, a few letters sealed in Muggle envelopes, and a brown, leather jacket. He took them out, spreading them over his bedspread and shooed Natasha away when she tried to bite one of the books. She ended up curling herself on top of the jacket and he allowed an indulgent smile. She really was adorable.

Grabbing one of the books, he opened the one on top to it's inside cover.

 _Lily Marie Evans_

 _1974_

It was written in thin cursive in purple ink and he ran a finger over the words, relishing at seeing his mother's handwriting. It that moment, he wasn't Louis. He didn't have to be. Here, he was Harry. He allowed himself to be Harry. He let his features morph back into his original state, barely registering his height lessening and his arms thinning. He turned the first page and began to read.

 _August, 1974._

 _My name is Lily Evans and I am in my fourth year-_

He read for what felt like hours and yet flashed by in seconds. He didn't finish the journal, not wanting to yet, and had only read a handful of entries, leading up to his mother's fourth Christmas in the magical world. He read about her and her best friend, Severus (Snape? Really? Way to go, mum.), and how she was worried about him and his new friends. Read about the Marauders and the cocky James Potter, swav Sirius Black, shy Peter Pettigrew, and intelligent Remus Lupin. Read about her favorite classes and frustrations about growing up (something he was somewhat uncomfortable with). He read about her hopes and dreams for the future and her fear of the war that was approaching fast. He read and read and read and slowly he started to feel as if she were there with him, reading the words to him, and sitting next to him on his bed, smile on her face,

He placed the book down, leaving it open and spine up so as not to lose his place, and moved to the jewelry box, which was just a square, blue box. He opened it up to find a silver, oval locket that had lilies engraved around its edges. Slowly, he popped the side open and stared down at two pictures. On one side were his parents on their wedding day. His mother stood in his father's arms, laughing, as his father smiled down at her with a warmth that he was sure the strongest fire could never rival. She was gorgeous, wearing a floor length gown covered in lace that hugged her body in all the right places, hair pinned up into a braided crown of red and eyes so bright and cheerful he could feel her love seeping out of the cold metal. His father was dressed in a muggle suit, not the traditional wizarding robes he had been taught about, and had his warm, hazel eyes locked on her own green ones, never leaving her face as she turned to laugh and smile at the camera. They were really, truly, in love.

On the other side of the locket was a picture of a sleeping baby. The baby had small tufts of black hair that was growing out in little messy patches. It's back was rising and falling in even beats as it breathed, nose twitching in it's sleep. Little white socks peaked out from under a light blue blanket that covered the baby's lower half and he smiled as the pacifier in it's mouth fell out.

Blinking back tears, Harry closed the locket and held it between his two palms, breathing deeply to collect himself, before sighing and throwing the silver chain around his neck, sliding the locket beneath his shirt. He leaned forward after a second and gently nudged Nat off of the jacket before bringing that too closer. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of cigarettes and grass. Preservation Charm, it seems. He tugged the jacket on, slipping his arms through the sleeves, and ignored the fact that it was considerably bigger than he was. Pushing the blue box and journals away to the end of the bed, he crawled towards his pillows and laid down, grabbing Natasha to pet her against his chest. She struggled for a minute before faltering and resisting, purring after another two minutes. He heard Sanguini as the snake wrapped himself around his leg.

" _Sleep, hatchling."_ And for the first time in a number of days, he listened to his friend and allowed his eyes to flutter closed, falling into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

 **A/N: I know I said he'd be getting a new acquaintance this chapter but it just didn't fit in so I have moved it to next chapter, where it's less awkward. As a result, some of this chapter moved with it, hence the shortness. I hope you liked this chapter despite that. We have some more info on Sanguini and Harry allowing himself to "play", even in solitude. Some feels this chap.**

 **Next update will be soon.**

 **Please review.**


	16. Chapter 16

Neville cut his eyes over to the boy that was writing away next to him. Louis was one of the only people he knew that could sit through History of Magic and while he was pretty sure the boy wasn't listening to a word Binns was saying, judging by how his eyes kept glancing at the opened book in front of him, it was still a feat to be awake.

Louis greatly confused Neville. Originally, when he had first met the boy on the train, he had thought that they were becoming friends and that the other first year liked him and while he wasn't rude to him and gladly listened, Louis never really spoke back or actively sought the Hufflepuff out. He didn't try to make conversation and hang out and while this didn't exactly make Neville downhearted, as he had made many friends in Hufflepuff since coming to Hogwarts and Louis did, in fact, have his own life, he couldn't say that he wasn't disappointed. The Ravenclaw was one of the first people to have talked to him as if he were someone normal. Someone worth talking to, even. Louis didn't look at him with pity or disgust. He had never commented on Neville's slight stutter or nervousness or his clumsiness. He didn't tease him for his weight or forgetfulness. Louis treated him with respect, like a fellow human being, and he even tried to boost him up. Neville had really appreciated the kindness the boy had shown on the train and yet, it was all gone now. Well, he couldn't say that exactly. Louis was still kind to him. He just wasn't as warm or friendly or open as he had been on the train. Maybe it was the lesson that had brought the Ravenclaw out of his shell? Maybe he only felt comfortable when discussing academics? It would certainly fit what Neville knew about the other Ravenclaws. From what he had seen, they all tittered around awkwardly and avoided casual conversations like the plague. Though he had witnessed many talking and acting like other children when around other Ravenclaws and there were exceptions too. Roger Davis, for example, was a very loud individual that was overly friendly. A definite extrovert.

Regardless, if Louis just wasn't comfortable yet and just needed to be brought out of his shell, Neville would help him with that. He knew just the person to get the job done too.

Grinning, the young Hufflepuff stood up to go back to the dormitories, where he knew she would be, only stopping to grab another muffin from the table.

* * *

To say that Louis was exhausting himself would be an understatement. For the past few weeks, almost since his first flying lesson, he had been devouring everything he could on his parents and the previous Wizarding World War. To say that there was a lot . . . well, you got the point. Nothing needed to be said. There were a LOT of books and newspapers to go through. Madam Pince had given him many weird looks whenever he came in and left. He always left covered in dust, even after using a cleaning charm Fred had taught him. Louis thought that was ridiculous. He also kept working straight through dinner and his body was definitely showing it. During the day he looked like Louis, who was relatively average in height and thus had the proper amount of muscle and fat for such proportions. He definitely didn't look underweight. But whenever Louis made it to his room and became Harry again, his features would slowly recede away into the tiny boy that was drastically underweight. When he had lived with the Dursley's and lived off of tiny rations he had been too skinny for a growing child and going to a poor orphanage in France didn't help him in that department either. Sure he had stolen food there but more times than not he had given it all away. The point was, Louis didn't have a lot of weight left to lose and he knew that what he was doing to himself was dangerous and ydt he couldn't bring himself to care. He had a small stomach, a small appetite, and he could build himself back up later, once he had finished his searching. Losing a few more pounds wouldn't matter all that much in the end anyway. . . right?

He sure hoped so.

Despite his growing weight problem though, Louis didn't stop his long quests into the library. He was learning more every day, about magic and history and his parents and it was exhilarating. According to the records, his mother had become a very young Charms Mistress in training, apprenticing under Flitwick's tutelage, and had just started her research for her final thesis when she had been murdered. He had found one of her papers in an old Scholarly Journal and had been quite surprised that she was working on the Killing Curse itself. There wasn't much there, as it was only a short article. But from what he had been able to read, she was looking into its actual effects, causes, and even ways to possibly stop it. The revies she had been given were skeptical, after all, no one had ever found a way to prevent death from it. Louis figured she must have though for he was still alive. None of the journals sent by Gringotts though had given any hints though as to what she had discovered. He had read them all, cover to cover, after all.

His father, on the other hand, had become an auror. He was sported as the official in many statements in the newspaper and was seen in many pictures of arrests, raids, and battles. James Potter had been a hero, with a very high success and kill rate. The man had even been up for an award from the Auror Corps, as there had been much speculation and hinting at it in some of the middle pages of the paper. Unfortunately, the man had not lived long enough to see that he had, in fact, won such a thing. His name was now on a wall at the Auror Department of exemplary agents, one of the youngest to have sone so. Louis figured that, had he been there, that would have been one of his proudest achievements. He was very clearly in love with his job, if his mother's journals were anything to go by.

That was another thing that Louis found. His parents had been dearly in love, but they had both been devoted to their passions. His mother spent more time than was healthy in labs and ritual rooms and libraries, her head buried in books. She wrote many times about forgetting to make dinner and go home, having been caught up in her research. She had complained about Flitwick's mothering too, something he could relate to as the man had confronted him shortly after McGonagall. His father was, funny enough, basically married to his job. He spent more time out than at home. He would come back from St. Mungo's constantly, with new scars and broken bones. While his mom had often been with her mind elsewhere, she had noticed enough that he wasn't home, describing her loneliness and worry over her husband. There had been talks of a divorce once, before his mother had really started investing herself in her mastery, but that clearly never came about. Louis supposed that she figured if James could be married to the job, so could she. Charms must have filled the hole, the ache, that his absence had left. Either way, she never remarked on his father noticing anything differently. He was curious about whether or not the two would have stayed together, had they lived, and, not wanting to think about it, had pushed such ideas out of his head. For now anyway.

When he had left the idea of his parents behind him, he had quickly gone to the thing that centered both of their lives: Voldemort. James was an auror, constantly on missions, and while Lily hadn't been a ministry soldier, she had been out in the field as well. Both had been apart of the Order of the Phoenix, an organization devoted to the Light and by extension, Albus Dumbledore. There were many records of battles they partook in. He had flipped all the way through until he found what he suspected to be the first signs of a coming war, the first whispers. Voldemort had started his rise in politics, allowing the known Dark families to increase their wealth and name by becoming more prominent figures in society. Once they had the fame, the Dark side started pushing laws through, putting forth bills to be debated and passed. He couldn't say that he was opposed to all of them. When it became clear though that they weren't going to win this with thin smiles, underhand insults, and flourished signatures though, the attacks started. It was small at first. A random mentioning of a missing muggle family with no known cause. A wizard in Kent found dead. A muggleborn witch that hasn't been seen in weeks only to be found with clear evidence of torture. People started disappearing and attacks started to grow. The country was soon seized by fear, especially when the attacks grew more bold. The attack on Diagon Alley, specifically, shook them. These people, these Death Eaters, were ruthless. They struck at any time of the day, anywhere they wanted, sometimes more than once in an hour, other times not for three weeks. They left their calling card, a skull and snake in the air. The Dark Mark. They had a symbol for themselves, one branded on their very bodies, and what made it even worse was that it was so hard to discover them. They seemed to vanish as soon as they were done and they wore masks, concealing them. You didn't know who to trust, who to fear. One day your neighbor was watching your kids for you, the next they were being carted off to Azkaban. It continued to fester for ten long years until it just . . . stopped. The months following were slow and sluggish, with barely any excitement. And yet, even when the followers leaked out and disappeared with an absent master, he could see the signs. They were not gone. They were just waiting and he, Louis Thompson, Harry Potter, whoever he was, would have to be ready for them. He checked out books on advanced defense and tracking that day.

He felt sick just reading about the raids and trials. He wasn't sure he could do it, but he had to. There was no real choice.

And yet, in the end, with his nose in old pages and eyes glued to pictures,he saw that no one seemed to remember his parents sacrifice because when it was all over and done with, they didn't talk about Lily and James Potter, not really. It was all about Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

His dinner didn't stay down that night. He went to bed but never closed his eyes.

* * *

If one were to ask Louis what happened that Halloween he would tell you that he was in his room the whole night, sleeping and studying. His snake could attest to that if asked. Not that anyone would understand the creature anyway. Or even ask.

If one were to ask Neville Longbottom, he would say that he had absolutely no bloody idea what had happened but he was now absolutely, 100% terrified of trolls.

If one were to ask the Weasley twins, they would receive a look that clearly stated they weren't going to answer that.

If one were to ask Draco Malfoy, the blonde would just level you with a stare and proclaim that he wasn't his father and did what he felt was needed.

If one were to ask Hermione Granger though they would be told that Louis Thompson, the weird muggleborn boy with no friends, was a hero.

Louis, of course, would deny such a statement should he even acknowledge it.

Professor McGonagall didn't know what to think and in the end it didn't matter. Gryffindor lost ten points that night and none were gained and everyone was safe. As far as she was concerned, that was all that mattered, details be damned.

Albus Dumbledore would disagree. Fortunately, no one cared enough to listen to his ramblings and check.

In the end though, Louis still found himself annoyed. He really hated himself sometimes. Sanguini laughed it all up and Natasha, well . . . she was quite pleased.

 _Three Days Ago_

Louis hadn't planned on going to dinner that night, as everyone was not accustomed to, unfortunately for him though Cho Chang was having none of it. She had brushed off his excuses, threw open his door, and forcefully dragged him through the common room to the Great Hall, glaring at him to say anything when she shoved him into the seat between Roger Davis and herself. He did not say a word, just jutted out his lip in an uncharacteristic pout and grabbed a dinner roll.

Later, he would blame her for everything.

A table over, Neville sat with a grin, having had seen the pretty third year drag the boy in. He turned to his food and chatted merrily with Susan and Hannah. The next table housed the Gryffindors. Fred and George were bent over a sheet of parchment placed between them, whispering and making notes while simultaneously eating random bits of food that they didn't even look at. Next to them, Lee Jordan could be seen placing things on their plates and snickering at the displeased faces they made every few minutes. Ron Weasley, who Louis wasn't very familiar with but shared classes with, sat with his roommates and they laughed and joked, shoving their faces and making grand declarations of sorts. Draco Malfoy sat next to Justin Finch-Fletchley with a strange look on his face. He hadn't heard much from that boy, who was probably still in shock over his sorting if the wide eyes and letters from home were any sign. He was not unlike Pansy Parkinson, who was currently talking to Padma.

Hermione Granger was nowhere to be seen.

When Professor Quirrell came barreling through the doors, screaming for all to hear about a troll in the dungeons, Louis had rolled his eyes and grabbed another piece of chicken. Everyone else around him however stood up and started hysterically screaming, some in panic and fear, others in excitement, and running about. He had snickered when the headmaster had screamed (significantly louder than Quirrel at that, which he found quite impressive) for silence and order. Louis, like everyone else, had stood to follow his House's prefects back to the dormitories when the sudden thought had hit him.

 _Hermione._

Now Louis would never claim to be a reckless individual, Quite the opposite really. But he wasn't a cold hearted monster either. He and Hermione were not friends, not even close, and while she had some kind of idea about their relationship, he was quite indifferent towards the girl. He was like that with pretty much everyone really, sticking to himself and all. That did not mean, however, that he was not aware of his surroundings. He had heard Ron Weasley's cruel words to the girl after Charms that day, those jealous angry words that had sent the muggleborn into a fit of tears. He had noticed her absence in the library that day, as she was always there when he would go for his visit. He had heard the whispering of the other girls at the table and in the common room, of how she had locked herself in one of the bathroom's. He had seen she still hadn't showed up for dinner when the announcement was made. As such, he knew that Hermione was out there, not knowing there was a troll in the school, and despite what he knew she said later on, he did not see his next action as heroic (he, Louis, was by no means a hero).

He just had to get her, that's all there was to it. Find her and return her to the dormitories. Easy.

He had not expected to bump into Draco Malfoy of all people on his way there.

* * *

"What are _you_ doing?" He had gasped out in shock, rubbing his chest and leaning against the wall that he had slumped up against upon the impact of their collision. In front of him, he watched Draco squeeze his shoulder and glare at him.

"Despite what people think, I do have a heart, Thompson. I heard what Weasley said to Granger. I figured someone had to get her. I'm assuming you're doing exactly the same thing. Funny. We are probably the last two people they'd suspect for this job."

Louis blinked at him. That was not what he expected to hear. He suddenly found his lips tilting up into an involuntary grin and the words slipped out of his mouth before he could even process them. "Such a Gryffindor thing to do, Malfoy."

Draco looked at him flatly. "I was sorted there for some idiotic reason, Thompson, thank you."

He laughed then, another thing that surprised him, and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Shall we rescue the fair maiden then?"

"Your lead, Thompson. I'm not that much of a Gryffindor to run in first."

And so he took the lead and lead the boy towards the girl's bathroom, the one he just saw a troll walk into. The one that was nowhere near the dungeons. A bread crumb had been left.

When they made it into the bathroom, it was to see a giant baby troll with a club of all things (very cliche troll, real original) standing above a screaming Hermione, who was tucked under a sink. Overall, Louis considered it quite pathetic. He's not really sure what happened next, with the troll. He just remembered words flashing in front of him, his hand removing his wand from the holster, and his lips moving. Beside him, Draco had been yelling at Hermione. All he knows is that ten minutes later, they were all staring at the limp body of an unconscious troll and water was pooling and spraying everywhere.

"What did you do?" Granger had whispered. Draco turned his head to stare at him.

"I don't know." And he hadn't. Not then.

"We need to leave. Before the teachers find us." Draco spoke up sharply and the three first years looked at each other.

Hermione's eyebrows were knitted together. "Why? We didn't do anything wrong." He noticed her eyes stayed firmly locked on Draco's face, purposely not looking at the immobile troll beside them.

"They don't know that though." The blonde argued. He also purposely avoided looking at the troll.

Louis nodded. "He's right. We need to leave. Come on."

Draco gained a somewhat smug look at being correct whereas Hermione turned to stare at him with a somewhat incredulous look upon her face. "What?" He questioned her, confused.

She shook her head, her lips tilting up into a slightly amused smile. "Nothing it's just . . you hardly ever talk. That's like the first time I've heard you say anything outside of classes, like really say anything."

And despite himself, his lips twitched into a smile.

They were ducking behind doors and edging around corners when they ran into Neville, Susan, Fred, George, and an older girl with short, light brown hair.

"Louis! There you are!" Neville exclaimed happily, looking relieved with a giant smile blossoming on his face. Louis blinked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan hug Hermione.

"Neville?" He blinked again, saying the name quite slowly. He felt incredibly stupid then. A feeling he didn't enjoy knowing. "What are you doing here?"

Neville opened his mouth to answer but Draco interrupted him before he could start. "Can we have this conversation elsewhere? Or am I the only one that remembers the troll?"

Neville's head tipped back a few degrees and his eyes widened a fraction. "Right!" He said, voice rising an octave. "George?" He turned to face the twins, who Louis wasn't sure why they were there either. Why any of them were here for that matter.

The twin neville had been looking at (who Louis knew was actually Fred) nodded and turned to look at a piece of parchment in his hands, his brother peering over his shoulder, pointing at it and tracing something with the tip of his finger. "We can go this way. Follow us." With no hesitation, the group of first years and the other girl followed and they were all lead down a corridor and into a dusty room full of broken bookshelves and sheeted desks.

"Neville, what were you guys doing in the hall?" Hermione practically burst out with her question once the door was closed, seeming to not be able to wait.

"Looking for you guys of course!" Neville exclaimed back, looking at her as if it were obvious. Louis supposed that it really was. Still. He wasn't used to people looking for him. "I saw Louis break away from the Claws after Dumbledore's announcement and Susan said he was probably looking for you. We figured we'd help you guys out. Just in case."

"Naturally," the girl with the short brown hair spoke up. "I saw them sneaking off and when they told me what they were doing I got these two." She jutted her thumb over her shoulder towards the two Weasley's. "They can find anyone in seconds with their fancy map."

"Map?" Draco said with an interested gleam in his eyes. George waved a hand.

"Forget about the map." Fred said, tucking the piece of parchment into his robe's inside pocket.

"Nothing important." finished George.

Draco leveled them with a look that spoke of disagreement and held a promise to ask about it again. Louis considered for a second of joining before brushing that idea aside.

"Anyway," the girl interrupted "I wasn't just going to let them run around with a troll out on the loose."

"We weren't going to leave Nymphie here alone to find you guys herself. We're not monsters." George nodded his head vigorously at his twin's statement.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Don't call me that. It's Tonks." She added that second part, looking towards the first years. Then, she did something that almost made Louis gasp aloud. Her hair turned a dark blue and lengthened to go past her shoulders.

This did not stop Hermione from gasping though, or Draco's eyes from going wide. Neville and Susan looked unfazed. He supposed they saw this often as they were in the same House as the girl, having taken a look at the crests upon their breasts.

"How did you do that?!" yelled Hermione, her face bright in excitement and eyes huge and round. Tonks threw a small smirk at her.

"I'm a metamorphagus. That means I can change my appearance at will."

Draco shook his head. "Metamorphagi are extremely rare."

"How rare?" Louis asked, his eyes locked on Tonks with a very sharp ferocity.

Draco turned his head to look at him with a small amount of surprise. "Wow. Something Thompson doesn't know." Louis didn't correct him by saying he actually knew the statistics. "About five every couple of generations, if that." It was closer to four actually but he didn't say anything, instead keeping his eyes on Tonks.

"Can you only change your hair or is it really your whole person?" Hermione asked, peering over at the older girl with a deep intensity. Tonks gave a careless shrug and picked at a thread on her skirt.

"It's anything. Everything. I can change my whole entire body should I choose to, though that takes some time as I'm still figuring all of the kinks out. I can make myself shorter or taller," Tonks proceeded to make herself grow another few inches. "Skinnier or fatter." Her waist shrunk. "My hair darker, lighter, longer, shorter." The long, lanky blue strands became tight, blonde curls. "My eyes any color or shape." The straight, soft brown eyes became almond shaped and purple. "I can make my lips any shade, no lipstick needed." She made them two shades darker than the original pink. "My cheekbones higher, forehead broader, and nose narrower." She proceeded to do so. "I can even do more drastic changes." Louis watched as her ears seemed to flatten against her skull, disappearing into the fold of her hair, before springing up into white, cat ears. Black stripes of fur started spotting up along her neck and under her eyes.

Hermione looked completely entranced and enthralled at the sight before her. Beside her, Draco, Neville, and Susan looked equally interested, despite how familiar they were with the topic. Behind Tonks, Louis saw Fred and George trade grins.

"What about gender? Can you change that? And could you change into anything or just living creatures? Could you become a cactus, or just have parts of a cactus? Or even a chair! Can you-"  
"Wow wow, calm down." Tonks laughed, throwing her hands up, palms facing Hermione, who blushed and tossed the girl an apologetic smile.

"Sorry it's just . . . it's so fascinating and this . . . you're just so cool! It's amazing, what you can do. I wish I could do something that awesome."

Tonks smiled at the girl. "It's okay and hey, you can do a lot of cool things. From what I've heard, you're pretty smart. Remember almost exactly what you read, word for word. That's pretty special, kid. And to answer your questions, yes, I can do all of those things into entirety."

Hermione smiled gratefully at her but otherwise remained silent.

"Hate to break this up, but we should probably get to moving. The teachers have found the troll and might head this way." Fred spoke up after a couple of minutes, having taken a look at their piece of parchment. Louis would have to question them about their map during their next brewing session.

The Hufflepuffs all nodded together. "Alright. Let's go." Susan chirped up and they all made their way out towards the door.

Right before exiting though, Tonks grabbed his elbow, slowing them down so that they were behind the others. He stared up at her, face blank.

"You know, you're reaction isn't what I usually get. Excitement, envy, even disgust, sure, but complete indifference? That's a new one." She whispered down at him, mouth hovering just a bit above his ear. He shrugged, making his decision right there, and held her gaze.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." He blinked and jerked out of her hold, catching up with the others. He ignored her gasp behind him.

He knew she had seen his eyes go from flat brown to piercing green.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait guys. I have finals Monday and Tuesday and the eighth is a bad day for me so I'm kinda in a depressed mood. School has been pretty busy with papers due too and my calculus teacher is in the hospital (I really like him so I'm worried). Anyway, sorry for the wait. Winter break is soon though so lots of updates!**

 **Also, we will learn what exactly happened with the troll but just in a different way than direct telling. It's close enough to canon that I didn't just want to repeat what we all know. Sorry if that annoys anyone.**

 **On another note, I think it's funny that we are technically only halfway through chapter 12 in my original notes, out of 17 at that. That does mean though that we are getting to a "close", the second half of this story at least. In my notes, the months after Halloween kind of go by quickly, like in a chapter quickly, and they might still do that since the reason for that hasn't changed. I might add another just for the heck of it though. I'm about to start planning for the sequel soon though.**

 **I planted a big story point in this chapter though so I'm excited.**

 **Should we have a Harry and Draco friendship? That kinda just happened . . . honestly I don't know where it came from.**

 **Tell me what you guys thought.**

 **Please review.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"You know," Neville began one day, picking at the petal of a dandellion "I think Snape was trying to mess with what's on the third floor."

"Why would you say that?" Hermione asked distractedly, lazily flipping a page in her book as she scribbled out a note onto the notebook resting beside her thigh.

They were sitting by the tree beside the lake, wrapped up in lightweight jackets (Hermione had forced the muggle fashion onto a protesting Draco), relaxing. Neville was leaning against the tree trunk, a book on Herbology rested across his lap, forgotten, as he picked at the dying weeds. Beside Neville was Hermione, who had her Charms textbook resting on her knees as she sat crisscrossed next to him, a notebook resting on the grass next to her for her to write in. Louis had to bully the object onto her as she hadn't brought any with her, citing that they weren't on the supply list. When he had argued that they weren't on the list of forbidden objects either she had relented and later expressed her gratitude for such a thing. The wizarding world really was behind in times.

A few feet from Hermione and across from Neville was Draco, who also sat crisscrossed. The blonde had his posture straight and chin high and was writing into a leather bound journal. What, Louis didn't know, but he did see that there were a lot of words in it. Next to Draco was George, who was folding up paper airplanes and passing them to Fred and Tonks, who were lying between Draco and Neville. Fred was sitting criss crossed like the others but with Tonks's head in his lap, her legs stretched out to rest in Louis's lap. They were drawing on the airplanes with muggle markers, drawing crude and silly images, some that Hermione agreed and giggled at, others not so much. He sat across from them, again with Tonk's feet in his lap, and was reading one of the few fiction novels he had brought with him. While one hand was being used to message Tonks's ankles and occasionally flip the pages of the book that rested dangerously on his knee, the other was used to card through Natasha's fur. Sanguini was draped across his shoulders and was snoozing. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the creature was snoring. Honestly, his snake friend slept longer than was normal. Even Natasha was awake, barely, but awake.

He couldn't tell you exactly how it happened. He hadn't planned on making any friends or allowing anyone in, especially at the rate for which he did these people, but he couldn't exactly say he was surprised either. To be fair, he supposed the twins and Neville were just something waiting to happen. He had briefly allowed himself to talk to the Hufflepuff and he helped the twins with pranks after all. Hermione had been surprising though not as much as Draco had been. Tonks . . . well he wasn't surprised nor was he unsurprised to have befriended her.

The twins had been first. The first time they had met up after the troll, which just so happened to be two days after, on November 2, he had asked them about their map and after being scrutinized, had been showed the elegant piece of magic. He was told all about their first detention with Filch and how they had seen it poking out of a file in the man's stacks, how it was their sworn duty to grab the thing. He had been informed of how difficult it had been to get the map to reveal itself, how many weeks they had spent trying to trick the map into giving them some kind of hint, before eventually they just started trading insults with the four creators via ink and how, one day, they had cunningly been given the passcode. _I solemnly swear I am up to no good._ They had then shown him the map and they spent some time pouring over it, debating on what so and so were doing in that broom closet, how Professor Vector always walked that hall every day at the exact same time without fail, how Dumbledore paced constantly, how fast Lindsey Cardwell was moving, and so on. Then they had started talking about the mechanics and magic behind the map, discussing theories and possible spells and such, until, eventually, Louis had said that they should just make their own. A better Marauder's Map. They were basically Marauder's anyway, since it was clear that the original four had been pranksters them selves, and so really, it was their duty to do so. That declaration, that promise to be this generations Maraders and to have their own map, to be even better than the master's themselves, had drawn the three together and into a small group of what he wasn't afraid to call friends.

He supposed that that was the first rock falling in an avalanche kind of thing for after being seen interacting with the twins, outside of their secret room that is, you know laughing and actually talking to, Hermione had approached him. The bushy haired girl had been sending him looks for the past week, ever since Halloween, and he had noticed her biting her lip, opening her mouth to talk, and had ran away (calmly, of course) before she could actually corner him. One time, he had actually allowed it, only to tell her before she could speak that if she wanted to talk to her "savior" that she should talk to Draco, that he was the Gryffindor and actually wanted to talk to people, even muggleborns like them. He had run off before she could say anything. Hermione, though, had not been stopped and had returned with reinforcements named Neville. Together, the two of them had trapped him into a study group that was basically the cover for an interrogation. They had asked him all about his family ("They're dead."), about his home ("A roach infested orphanage, you mean?"), his interests ("Reading."), and all the other cliche things that children asked when making friends the first time to establish connections. They hadn't been bothered by his clipped answers though and had continued forcing him to meet up with them in the library (by dragging him to their table that is) and into actual conversations and somehow, he found himself answering, actually answering.

" _I don't have any roommates."_

" _It's in France. I grew up in France, having moved there from London."_

" _No, I have two animals that I brought with me. They're my friends and they're all I need. I'm not lonely, Hermione, promise."_

" _I enjoy pizza. Very common, I know. . . . What do you mean you've never had pizza?"_

" _Purple is a very nice color, yes."_

" _Can't say I've never done anything bad . . . I've stolen food quite a bit. . . . Stop judging me, Hermione. Yes, I know it's illegal and no, I don;t care."_

" _It could've been better."_

" _No, Hermione, I am not depressed."_

" _No. I never knew my parents."_

" _Paris is gorgeous if you look at the right places."_

" _Maybe you can visit one day . . ."_

He didn't know how they did it, just that with the forced study sessions and conversations he had begun to talk to these people, had begun to allow himself to feel again, to connect with people again. He had stopped after the Dursley's betrayal, had been convinced of the cruely of humans with the boys bullying at the orphanage showing him how little difference there was in people, and yet. . . they had done it. The twins he had understood but these two . . . . Neville was a meek boy who couldn't manipulate anyone to save his life, or so Louis thought, and Hermione had almost hated him until two weeks ago. And yet, here he was. He couldn't say he was disappointed.

Next came Draco and Louis was sincerely, 100% flabbergasted by this one. They had been in Transfiguration, one of the three classes that the Ravenclaws shared with the Gryffindors, when Draco had placed his books on the table that Louis sat at, taking the chair next to him. A seat that had remained empty pretty much since their second class after the others had realized how unnaturally smart and silent he was. He had looked up at the boy.

"Mind helping me with the assignment? I know you're finished and I can't seem to get it right." Louis had stared at the boy who was slightly taller than him in this form before looking over the blonde's shoulder and taking in the annoyed and angry and even somewhat amused looks of his feloow lions before nodding. Draco, in reality, had been just as lonely as he was and neither had wanted to admit it until then.

Draco would later tell him how none of his Housemates truly trusted him, thinking that he was just a carbon copy of his father, both in looks and beliefs, and while Draco said he looked more like his mother than anything and had even confessed that he shared some beliefs with his father (how could he not? He hardly even knew what the other side's opinions even were), he wasn't just like the man. He wasn't Lucius Malfoy. His name was Draco. That didn't seem to matter to the others within the lion's den though, not when they looked at him with icy indifference ir cold, hard glares. Didn't help him when he had to return there every single night, knowing that someone might just do something, might just snap, that he might slip and say or do something slightly wrong.

Louis had called him brave then and had been rewarded with a small, grateful smile. Draco hadn't left his side since then and Louis had felt the need to tell him to do so. It wasn't before long that the blonde had joined him and Neville and Hermione at their "study" sessions that while did include studying were mostly for conversation, at least fot Neville and Draco. Hermione had a challenger to beat after all (who cared if he sat at the same table as her, anyway? Friend or not she wanted that top spot) and Louis had parents and enemies to learn about.

Tonks was the last to earn the title of friend and she had earned it in the shortest amount of time at that. The girl had been keeping an elusive eye on him ever since Halloween, looking at him across the Hall at meals, staring at him when they passed in the halls, and whatnot. He was significantly more aware of her now than he was before and the same could definitely be said in the reverse. They didn't speak, just stared, until one day he had showed up for an inpromptu meeting with the twins only to meet her in their empty room instead.

He had sworn never to answer any of their owl messages at night ever again.

"Tonks." He had greeted politely with a dip of his blonde head. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Louis," she began, twisting her hands nervously. He supposed that's what did it, for him at least. He hadn't known the girl for long but even he could tell that she was a proud, confident woman and to see her look so uncertain had unnerved him. So he decided to give her a chance and just be blunt.

"You want to know more, don't you?" He asked rhetorically. Luckily, she hadn't answered, seeming to have understood that, and marched up to him, reaching over his shoulder to shut the door, and grabbed one of his hands, clutching it between hers.

She pulled him deeper inside the room, whispering excitedly, "I've never met another metamorphagus before. Louis . . . do you know what this means?"

He didn't say anything, just looked at her as she pulled him down to sit on the floor with her towards the back. "It means," she said after a moment of pause "that you can't possibly be a muggleborn. Metamorphagi has only ever been prevalent in pureblood lines. Louis," she started to say something else hesitantly, and he was sure he knew what, but he interrupted her, not wanting her to say it.

"I know, Tonks. I know I'm not a muggleborn." He said lowly, almost in a whisperer, his eyes trained now on his shoes. Black converse.

"You . . . wait, what? If you know then why are you letting people think you are? Louis, I've heard what they've said about you! Surely you don't want to hear that?!" She exclaimed angrily, looking at him as if he were crazy. He noticed the increase of pressure to his hand and fought back a wince. She had a grip, damnit.

Louis had, of course, heard the things his fellow classmates were saying about him and his blood. Slytherin wasn't the only house that housed pureblood suprememists. Voldemort had gotten most of his followers from the House of the Cunning but Ravenclaw had been a close second. He heard the jeers, the taunts. He ignored the insults and pushed through the sometimes not so gentle shoves. He could handle it. Had to handle it.

He told Tonks as much.

"You shouldn't have to though."

He didn't say anything.

"Why don't you show your gift? To anyone?" She had asked him after several minutes had passed.

"Because I can't have them knowing who I am. I can't have them even considering the possibility."

"And who are you really, Louis?" She had, predictably, asked.

"I can't tell you that. Not today. But I will. Someday."

That answer seemed to appease her enough. For then.

His random meetings with Tonks hadn't stopped after that, instead increasing in number. They would meet up, sometimes in that abandon classroom, other times in his single room (where no one would bother them), mostly in the classroom though, and she would teach him how to harness his powers, how he could increase his speed with the changes and move more naturally and swiftly. He could change at ease now, not even having to think about his hair or eyes or skin and now she was teaching him about bone structure and muscles and fats and joints and the likes to help him with adjusting his limbs. Metamorphagi was a lot more complicated than people would think, he thought. It was hard work, and often quite painful, but he didn't complain. His knowledge and skill in transfiguration wasn't complaining either. He swore he saw McGonagall in tears with his midterm evaluation submission. He had to admit though, it really was a work of art.

Tonks had then started joining him and the twins in their prank planning and sometimes in their attempts and research at the map, though the latter really wasn't her style, and before long all of his new friends were meeting up together, sometimes at the lake, sometimes at meals (he was often dragged from his room to eat and brought to wherever the dragger deemed appropriate), which wasn't always at Ravenclaw table.

Which brought him to where he currently was . . . .

"-are you guys even listening?" He heard and looked up in time to see Neville throwing everyone an exasperated look.

"Nope." Tonks, Fred, and George all said together, all popping the p with grins.

Draco didn't even grace Neville with a verbal response, just leveled a flat stare at the boy when he looked up, as if daring him for even asking such a question.

Hermione closed her book with a sigh and smiled apologetically at the Hufflepuff. "I'm sorry, Neviile. What were you saying?"

"I said," Neville almost snapped exasperatedly "that I think Snape is up to something."

"What gives you that idea?" Fred asked, lazily picking a leaf off of a three leaf clover and tossing it onto the grass below.

"When we were trying to find you guys, "he nodded at Draco, Louis, and Hermione "I saw Snape pass by. He had a limp. That was when we were on the third floor. I think he went and met Fluffy."

"Fluffy?" Draco asked sharply, looking at Neville incredelously. The younger Hufflepuff nodded.

"Fluffy is the three headed dog that's guarding whatever is on the third floor corridor. Tonks and I accidentally discovered it when making our way back before curfew."

"Accidentally for you maybe. That was my target location in the first place," mumbled Tonks with a secret grin. George snickered at the glare Neville threw at her.

"It's called a cerberus and just because he had a limp doesn't mean he was messing with anything." Hermione argued.

"Well, where else could he have gotten it from? I saw him, Hermione. It was on the same floor and he clearly had just gotten it. I saw the blood on his leg! Surely you've noticed his limo?" And Louis couldn't deny that Snape had had a definite limp for the days following Halloween and that it was awfully convenient that he was seen with it on the third floor where a known no-enter area with a guard dog was at.

"So what are we saying? That Snape is after whatever is being hidden there? That he's a thief?" Tonks asked with interest, sitting up and scooting back to sit next to Draco.

"I think it's a possibility, don't you?" Neville shrugged.

"So what are we going to do?" Draco suddenly spoke up, looking at all of them, who returned the look back to him.

"Who says we have to do anything about it?" Hermione said with a raised eyebrow. Louis noticed she pressed one of her nails into the finger two places from in, her thumb into the middle to be exact.

"Think about it," Fred began. "Whatever must be up there, has to be pretty special to be guarded like that."

"And if it's important, someone wants it." George continued.

"Snape looks like he might be that someone." said Fred.

"We wouldn't want something worthy of Dumbledore's protection to go in the wrong hands would we? We have to do something." Draco finished for the two, all three nodding.

Hermione stared at all of them blankly before huffing out "Gryffindors".

"So what are we going to do?" Tonks asked.

"We wait." He said and watched as all eyes turned to look at him silently. "We figure out what's behind that door if we can and if there's any sign that someone is going to steal it, we move in."

And so the search began.

* * *

 _He could feel the sudden touch of something hot and sticky on his cheek and so he raised a hand to touch it. Pulling it back, he looked down at the red substance staining his fingertips. Blood._

" _Louis!"_

He woke with a jerk that morning, startling himself out of his dream, a dream that he knew to be a memory, and moved one of his hands out from beneath his comforter, out of the warmth that resided there, to take a hold of his wand and check the time.

5:35

Fun.

Sighing, he begrudgingly sat up and moved his legs out to stand up, accidentally waking Natasha up in the process. The siberian tiger glared at him before sleepily placing her head back down. Sanguni didn't even budge. He really need to see if that was normal for snakes because he didn't think so, despite the fact that Sanguini had always slept 90% of the day away. Maybe the creature was just depressed and lazy? Probably just lazy.

He walked into the bathroom, flipping the switch to turn the light on and wincing at the sudden assault of brightness. Honestly, he was still surprised that Hogwarts had electricity, the wizarding world being as behind as they were, but considering the school had plumbing it wasn't that much of a shock. He slowly grabbed the helm of his sleep shirt and pulled it over his head, pulling at the string of his pants with the other hand and allowing them to fall to the floor in a heap before kicking them to the side, deciding to pick them up later. He really needed to eat more. His clothes were literally falling off of his body. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his reflection.

Messy black hair and green eyes looked back. He was not going to be Louis today. He was going to be Harry. Just this once. It was a Saturday, so he knew he didn't have to go to class, and since he had played being somewhat sick yesterday, he knew no one would bother him if he failed to make himself known today. They would just assume he had stayed in. It was late November now after all and so colds and flus weren't that uncommon.

After adjusting the temperature, he stepped into the shower and tilted his head forward, letting the hot water rush over his body. The water ran down his face, pressing his hair against his skin and fizzing up his vision, but he ignored it until his eyes started to burn, forcing him to straighten up and rub at them. He lathered his hands with shampoo and scrunched up his fair, massaging the oils in before cleaning the rest of his body up and following with conditioner. When he finished cleansing himself, he just continued to stand underneath the water, relishing in the heat until it was all gone and he was just left with ice.

Finished with his shower, he walked back to his bed and after casting an overpowered cleansing charm on his whole bed (much to Natasha's and Sanguini's annoyance judging by the twin hisses he received) climbed in naked, resting beneath the covers. He would deal with the day later.

Waking up a couple of hours later, sleeping straight through breakfast, Harry rolled out of bed again, this time to put on clothes. He grabbed a pair of baggy gray sweats, some boxers, and a black regular t-shirt and put them all on before slipping a green and yellow striped sock onto his foot, a solid red one onto the other. Matching socks were bad luck. He didn't remember where he had heard that but it had stuck.

Walking over to his desk, Harry opened up the books he planned on studying that day.

 _The Killing Curse: Magick's Most Unforgivable Crime._

 _For centuries, the wizarding world as a whole has ackowledged the dangers of the English governments "unforgiveable" curses. The United States has similarily outlawed them, as has Australia, Italy, Bulgaria, Ireland, France, and several other prominent faces. Not everyone, however, shares the mindset that these curses are what the common man would call "evil". Czechoslovakia, for example, has allowed for the appropriate use of the Cruciatus Curse in the medical field._

 _What is it about these curses that bring about such controversy though? Why is it legal in some areas but not others? I could spend the rest of this book providing you with the difference between the three unforgivable curses (Cruciatus, Imperius, and Killing), complete with different uses and the effects, but I'm not going to do that. Read Drobosky's work if that is what you came for._

 _No, I will tell you about the one curse that is universally dismissed as too dangerous for any use, even if it is for the debatable good: the Killing Curse._

 _The Killing Curse was invented in . . ._

He read for what felt like hours and truthfully it probably was hours. He went from one book to the next, finishing his short pile all in one sitting, devouring the words there until there was nothing left but empty spaces and blank pages. He learned of the mechanics behind the curses discovery and invention, how it was developed by a farmer on accident, learned about the horrific turn the curse took when people started using it on each other, learned of the effects it had on the human body, how it wasn't exactly an instantaneous kill but rather a very quick, excruciatingly painful death that lasted less than ten seconds but felt like years, learned how there was no clear indication that this is what someone was struck by, other than the fact that there was no evidence of any other cause, learned of how people had tried to counter it and failed, learned of the increasing number of countries that banned its use, learned of his own survival. Learned of the improbability of it.

He didn't know what but he knew his parents had to have done something to make him survive like he had. They had to of. People didn't just survive an unsurvivable curse by accident. There had to be a reason. He had already suspected as such but the books he read that day just proved it.

His parents had to of figured a way out. There had been extensive research into counter curses, charms, runes, potions even, but nothing had come about. His parents top courses hadn't held the answers and while he knew there was a possibility that they had been able to solve the issue themselves, it was more likely that they found it in another discipline, maybe even incorporated their own skills to it to further ground it.

It was with that thought that he began to pour over his next section of books. Reaching over his desk, he grabbed another book, opened it up, and began to read.

 _The Dark Arts: A Brief Introduction_

* * *

"Louis! Louis! I got something!" An excited voice broke through the quiet of the library and Louis held back a wince as many eyes looked up to glare at Neville, Madam Pince shushing him in a way that was louder than his own yells. Neville's shoulders bunched together as he apologized, embarrassed, and walked quickly to squeeze himself into a chair next to Hermione.

Around him, sitting at a round table roughly in the center of the Hogwarts library, were Hermione, Draco, the twins, Tonks, and now Neville. They all had their bags and books were opened before them with random ink bottles and pieces of parchment scattered across the tabletop. Louis rolled his sleeves back as he straightened, placing his quill down to face the panting Hufflepuff.

"Louis," Neville continued "you won't believe what I just learned. I was down at HAgrid's, you know the gamekeeper, I visit him every once in awhile you should come-"

"Neville. Focus." Hermione said, irritated.

Neville nodded. "Right. Sorry, Anyway, I was visiting Hagrid, who has a dragon egg by the way-"

"A dragon?!" exclaimed Fred with wide, excited eyes.

"Blimey!" Cried a grinning George. Tonks slapped the both of them on the back of the head simultaneously.

"-and I was telling him he needed to find him a new home, because his is wooden you know? And he mentioned Fluffy, said that if he could take care of a cerberus he could handle a baby dragon! I tried to get more on Fluffy and what was on the third floor corridor but he snapped and said that was between Dumbledore and some guy named Nicholas Flamel! He got subdued then and rushed me out and I came here as fast as I could."

"Nicholas Flamel?" Tonks hummed, looking thoughtful as her red eyebrows drew together in concentration. "Where have I heard that name?"

Hermione shook her head, lips scrunched up into something that wasn't quite a pout but close enough for Louis to call it one. "I'm sure he's mentioned somewhere. He's probably in a book, especially if Dumbledore is involved in this too."

"Bet it was something pretty big." said George.

"Something important." Fred nodded.

"Well then. We have a name. Let's find it." he stated, looking at all of them. In that moment, he felt a lot like King Arthur, with his Knights surrounding him at the roundtable. A small smile made it's way onto his face only for him to push it off not even a second after is decided to show itself. They had work to do. "Good work, Neville."

"Thanks." The boy grinned brightly.

"Herms and I will look into this Flamel guy. I have access to the restricted section thanks to the upcoming NEWTS so we'll get more done together." Tonks spoke up as she stood with a disgusted curl to her lips. The girl practically growled at the mention of the tests she had to take in only a couple of short months. Louis did not envy the seventh year. After receiving a nod from him, Hermione bounded off with her.

"We'll look into that cerberus. See if there's a way around it." Fred said, waving a finger between him and his twin.

"Just in case, of course." George added with a twinkling grin as he noticed Louis's' unbelieving stare. Rolling his eyes, he waved a dismissive hand and almost laughed as they ran off, not caring how loudly they were doing so either.

"What do you want us to do, Louis?" Neville asked meekly, looking at him, Draco turned in his seat to better face him too, he noticed, though the boy remained silent. Louis wondered when it was that these people had started looking up to him, and why him of all people. Tonks was a seventh year, the twins third years, he was just a first year. He didn't understand it. Like most things these days, he blamed it on that stupid troll.

He shook his head to dismiss his thoughts. "Look up counter spells and anything we can use as defense. Maybe a little on potions and charms. Transfiguration. Odds are, that cerberus isn't the only thing guarding whatever is down there. If we are going to be prepared for one, we might as well be prepared for them all. Just in case, of course." He bit back a grin.

Draco gave a sharp nod and dragged Neville off to do more research. Sighing, Louis leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. His dark blonde hair. He was incredibly tired and it had only just started. And he wasn't just talking about Flamel either.

* * *

 _Graduating near the top of his class, no one was surprised that Black had the power to destroy thirteen people with one spell. To this day though it's all a matter of why. Why did Black betray his friends and join the dark side? Why did he sell pout the Potter's? Why kill all of those muggles and one of his own best friends? The wizarding world may never know._

 _John Hanson, sighing out._

Blinking rapidly and breathing through his nose to fight back the approaching yawn, Louis let the newspaper article dropped down to the table and extinguished the lamp before him. He sighed and tipped his head back, shoulders digging into the corners of his chair as his head hung limply, eyes closed. He had been reading up old newspaper articles, trying to see if there were any clues as to how he had survived, any mentionings by famous scholars or even his parents leading up to their deaths, and had fumbled across an article that was dated about a week after Sirius Black's arrest. He had remembered writing down Black's name, having had decided to look up more about the mn and seeing as he was in a current slump in his research, had decided to start then.

Sirius Black came from a dominantly dark pureblood family. The Black family was among the sacred twenty-eight, making them one of the oldest and most prominent families in the english wizarding world. Black though had appeared to be the black sheep of the Black family, the white sheep if you will. He had showed a blatant disagreement to his family's ideals and had been sorted into Gryffindor, the first of the Black's to be done so to in over 100 years. He befriended James Potter, the known heir to the grey Potter family, though it was clear then that the Potter's were a borderline light family, at least at that time, Peter Pettigrew, the lone heir of the poorer Pettigrew line, a boy that was the closest thing to a bastard that one could be without actually being one, his mother a divorced, single mother, and Remus Lupin, the werewolf halfblood that no one knew much about it seems. Sirius Black had shown no signs that he held similar beliefs to Voldemort and his Death Eaters and had been repeatedly reported to have expressed the exact opposite, that he had been a vocal supporter of the light idealisms. Weeks, months even, after his supposed betrayal had been filled with articles from different, former classmates of his stating that "they just couldn't believe".

Remus Lupin, the sole survivor of that group of friends, had not been among the interviewed. Louis didn't know whether to be surprised or not.

Black hadn't showed any signs though and while there were many that came forward, saying that they knew Black had always been evil, had been cruel, he wasn't quite sure if he could believe them. Most of those comments came from people that he (and many others) suspected to have slipped through the government's fingers, being the Death Eaters and supporters that they were. How could he trust their word?

As far as he was concerned, there were very few voices he could trust on this matter. Standing up, he hastily placed the newspapers back into the drawers and grabbed his stuff, shoving it all into his bag.

He had a letter to write.

 **A/N: Short chapter, I know, but there wasn't much to be said. Just to clear it up, that dragon hasn't hatched yet and I'm sure I've screwed with the timeline a little but frankly I don't think it matters. Next chapter is Christmas.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it and please review.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"Hey, Louis, what, um, what are you doing for Christmas?" Hermione asked him one winter morning, sitting next to him on a sofa in the Ravenclaw common room. They were both sitting on the sofa, Hermione with her back against the couch's and her feet on the ground and Louis with his legs stretched out, one bent at the knee for him to rest his book against. His foot was touching Hermione's thigh and her right hand was tracing random shapes along the toes of his converse. He looked up from his book at her question, not even having had been reading from it.

"Christmas?" He blinked owlishly. Hermione bit her lip and nodded.

"Yes, Christmas. I know Neville is going home to see his grandma and Draco is staying with Tonks to visit his aunt since his father isn't being very welcoming, and the twins are going to stay here since their family will be in Romania but you never mentioned what you're doing?" She swallowed thickly.

He continued to look at her, blinking slowly, until sighing tiredly and closing his book, placing it on his stomach. He felt his foot twitch. "I'm staying here. I'd rather not return to the orphanage. No reason to. It's too far away anyway. No one would be able to meet me at the station"

He had, of course, told all of his friends that he lived in an orphanage and while they understood that it was in France and a pretty poor place to live, they didn't really seem to register what that meant. He was an orphan and as such, had no family. There was no one waiting for him to spend the holidays with, to discuss his grades and share his homework with. No one to make sugar cookies with or drink cocoa with. No one to send and receive presents from. No one to excitedly wake up at six in the morning Christams day or fill a sock for. He was alone . Christmas didn't hold the same magic for him as it did then and it seemed that Hermione finally realized that in that moment.

"O-Oh," Hermione stammered, voice thick with emotion that Louis couldn't identify. "Well, if you want, I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind if you joined us for the holidays. They've been wanting to know more about my friends anyway, they'd love to meet you." Louis didn't miss how her voice seemed to caress the word "friends", how she cherished it. He sent a silent threat to the people that made her feel as if she couldn't have friends. He may not have been a friend of hers for long but even he could see that she hadn't deserved that belief thrusted onto her.

He shook his head slowly, apologetically., He wasn't sure what he was sorry for though. "No, I wouldn't want to intrude. It's a little late for a warning anyway. Break is in a few days. I'll be fine, Hermione, really. It's nothing I haven't done before. Thank you for the offer though, Really."

Hermione didn't look reassured though and shook her head sadly, standing up with her closed book in hand. "I really wish you would let us help you, Louis, would let us in."

"Help?" He asked in a soft voice, not understanding what she was saying.

She gave him a look, looking him over, before smiling thinly at him. "The fact that you have to ask worries me." She said before walking away and up the stairs, presumably to her room.

"She's right, you know." A voice said behind him, making him jump a little in surprise. He looked over his shoulder to see Cho standing there, looking at him gently.

"I don't understand." He confessed lowly, looking down at his hands, which were curled up loosely in his lap.

"I know." She walked around the sofa and sat down beside him, their knees touching as he had pulled his legs forward to rest in front of him. "Louis," She began, offering him a smile "When was the last time you ate?"  
"Ate?" He blinked, confused. He knew it was reflected back on his face as he could feel his eyebrows knitting together and head tilting. Cho nodded.

"Yes. Actually eaten too. I can't remember, can you?"  
He stared back at her, not understanding what she was saying here. What did it matter if he wasn't on his game with food? He had gone days without food before at the orphanage and even before that at the Dursley's. What did it matter now? He asked her as such.

"Louis," she shook her head. "You need to eat. You've lost a lot of weight since you got here." He jerked at her statement, surprised.

He didn't believe her. "Thank you for your concern, Cho, but I'm fine." He said shortly. Standing up, he made his way to his room, ignoring her quiet protests.

When he got there, he shut the door behind him, locking it with a spell. Making his way to the bathroom, he yanked his shirt out from where it was tucked inside his pants and quickly unbuttoned it. Staring down at his chest, he was truly shocked at what he saw.

His ribs were more prominent than they had been at the start of the school year. They dipped and curved down with his skin clinging thinly to them in desperation. His collarbones jutted out sharply from his body and he could wrap his hands quite firmly around his hip bones. He wouldn't be surprised if his spine was visible too. Cho was right. He had lost weight.

How had he not noticed this? He woke up every single day and adjusted his appearance to fit that of Louis Thompson's. That included his weight. How could he have not seen this? It was crucial to his plans! People had to think he was a normal boy, a healthy boy. Harry was emaciated, not Louis. Though he supposed Louis was too. He didn't eat at the orphanage and he didn't eat at Hogwarts now either. Perhaps that was why he hadn't adjusted his weight to appear normal. Either way, this couldn't continue. He'd have to do something.

If he thought he could get away with it, he'd just adjust his weight to normal and be done with it. But apparently some people had noticed that he was much skinnier than he should be, and how could they not when his cheekbones were plainly sticking out like that? He could slowly adjust his weight, adding a little more every day, not enough to notice at first but over time would show the illusion of improvement. He knew he wouldn't be able to eat a regular diet, wouldn't be able to keep it down, so he knew he'd have to use his metamorphagus ability to fix this, but still. They would have to see him eating. But he'd just vomit it all back up anyway, not purposely mind you . . . .

He could drink nutrient potions but they required a daily dose and while his weight and stomach would improve, they would just fall back down over the summer, where he wouldn't have access to such potions. He didn't have enough ingredients or vials or even space to make enough for the whole break anyway. Unfortunately that eliminated the idea of eating anyway and drinking a stabilizer potion for his stomach after. He'd have to have one after every meal for a while, considering how long he;s been like this, and as such, wouldn't be able to provide them for himself. He supposed he could try to eat a little more than he was. That would be an improvement surely and while his chances of throwing it all up in the end anyway weren't exactly comforting, it was better than having questions thrown at you and given sideway glances. Nodding, he slowly began the process of rebuttoning his shirt back up, which, when he finished, he tucked into his pants and straightened his tie. He marched over to his bed and grabbed the sweater vest he had abandoned there early, slipped it on, and seized his school robe from the back of his chair.

He needed to go to the library.

* * *

"Don't forget to look up Flamel!" Hermione reminded them for what must have been the eighth time as she pulled her heavy suitcase behind her. Louis had offered to pull it for her but she had snapped at him, saying something about being an independent woman that didn't need his aid.

He was just trying to be polite. Girls were crazy.

Fred rolled his eyes. "We got it, Herms."

Hermione opened her mouth, outraged at the nickname that seemed to have stuck thanks to Tonks, but was stopped by said metamorphagus placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, laughing.

"Relax. Come on, we have a train to catch. They'll be fine." Tonks tossed her head to the side, making her pastel pink, long hair fall behind her shoulder in loose waves. Louis rather liked her with pink hair. He told her as such.

"Thanks!" She smiled with a big, toothy grin.

"Are we just going to stand here like a bunch of commoners?" Draco grumbled, rolling his eyes. George laughed as Neville punched the blonde's shoulder. "Ow! Jesus, Nev, that hurt!"  
"Oh boo hoo." Neville teased with narrowed eyes, rubbing his cheeks in a manner that suggested he was throwing a fit. They laughed when Draco glared at him with pure venom in his gaze.

"Well I got to get princess here home so see you guys." Tonks said with a friendly smile, she gave Hermione a hug, slapped the twins when they tried to get one, ruffled Neville's hair, and leaned in to whisper in Louis's ear. "Don't forget to practice what I showed you."

"I won't." He mumbled back, lips barely moving as he watched Draco fix Neville's hair with a scowl at "pureblood decorum". Tonks pulled back and grabbed Draco's hand, ignoring his grumblings, and yanked him away, waving goodbye.

Neville shook his head in exasperation. "Honestly." Hermione nodded.

"She's right though," Hermione said, seizing her suitcase again with her hand and lifted it with a huff. "Best to get going. Bye guys and good luck." She waved.

"Bye." They cheered.  
"Guess that's my cue to leave as well," Neville sighed and proceeded to leave, not even bothering to say goodbye as he stared morosely at the scarlet red steam engine train.

Fred and George placed themselves around him and strung arms over his shoulders, grinning, first at each other, and then down at him. "Well, little sprong,"  
"We have to take care of Ronnie first,"  
"But we'll be seeing you soon."  
He shrugged. "Alright."

Louis watched as the twins walked over to their younger brother, Ron, who was watching his friends, Dean and Seamus, leave, and wrapped their arms around him, giving him a noogie much to his annoyance. Shaking his head in amusement, Louis turned around to head back up to the castle.

He hadn't been lying to Hermione when he had said that this Christmas wouldn't matter to him, that it never had. For as long as he could remember, Christmas had been an uneventful and downright depressing day. When he had first lived with the Dursley's at Number Four, he had been forced to prepare amazing feasts for all three meals of the day and to clean up all of Dudley's wrapping paper and ripped boxes from his presents and new toys. He had never been given anything. At the orphanage, they had tried to splurge for Christmas, even though they really shouldn't have, and the matron would make pancakes and eggs for breakfast and they would have a small ham, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese with dinner rolls for lunch and dinner. The leftovers, if there were any, would last them for as long as they could draw it out. If they had the money, she would also try to buy each of them a new article of clothing. More often than not that meant a pair of gloves, a scarf, or a new hat. One year he had gotten a nice, light grey wool jacket. His old one had been riddled with holes and tears and he had been truly grateful for such a gift.

He wasn't expecting a gift this year though. They didn't know where (or how) to send any and he wouldn't be there so . . . . He had sent a small pouch of money to the woman through the mall, claiming to be a concerned citizen that just wanted to spread the holiday cheer so "happy holidays". He wished he could see the older woman's face when she received it. He hoped they enjoyed themselves and spent it well.

This would be his first year spending it somewhere that a) had enough to actually provide him a meal (not that he could eat all of it) and b) didn't force him to clean. He might even get presents this year, if the less than subtle hints he had been sent were any indication.

He was tired, he had been plagued with nightmares and he wasn't eating, he was discovering a lot about his parents and was struggling to discover the truth, but overall, Louis felt he could say that, in that moment at least, he felt good. He felt happy.

* * *

 _Lips pressed against his cheek. "He's so perfect. So perfect . . . " A soft female voice said from somewhere above him. Harry struggled, trying to open his heavy eyes but ultimately he was too tired to do so. He snuggled closer to the warmth beneath him._

" _He really is." A male voice cooed, also from above him._

 _A hand ran its fingers through his short hair and he felt the slight scrape of fingertips against his scalp. Gosh, did that feel good. "We made that James. WE made that."_

 _A pause. "That we did, Lils. That we did."_

 _There was another pause and he struggled once more to open his eyes, to see, but the warmth was calling to him, it was so welcoming, so nice . . ._

 _He heard the sound of something wet. Like a kiss._

" _I love you," One of the voices whispered. He couldn't tell which. He supposed it didn't really matter._

" _I love you too . . .always." The other voice returned and he felt himself fall to sleep as the sound of a door being shut was heard. The world was bathed in complete darkness and he knew no more._

* * *

" _Sanguini?_ " He whispered into the dark, cheek pressed against his pillow. His hands fisted his sheets.

" _Yes, child?_ " The snake returned drunkenly, sounding tired. He felt a little guilty at waking his friend.

" _Do you think they loved me?_ " He whispered back, eyes darting to look upwards towards the ceiling as he was lying on his side, facing the wall.

Sanguini didn't ask who he was talking about. He didn't have to.

" _Always, Harry._ " His friend said back quietly, sounding much kinder and gentler than usual. " _Always. Never forget that._ "

He went back to sleep, grateful.

* * *

" _Where's your parents?" The little girl in front of him asked, looking up at him innocently._

 _He sat on a park bench, a cigarette hanging between his teeth, unlit. He had gone out as a teenager today, feeling broody. Martin was a teenager and he was broody after all. It seemed fitting. He ran a hand through the dark red locks that blocked part of his vision._

" _I don't have any." He told her, clenching his hand into a fist, wrapping his hands around the lighter that rested there. He had bought a pack of the things from some guy in an alley in exchange for some money for beer. He had picked pockets to get that money but he wasn't feeling good today. Cigarettes would do. He didn't even know why he actually bought them. He had never smoked before in his life. Some of the other boys his age, his real age mind you, had, but not him._

" _Why?" She asked quietly, bottom lip jutted out a little. Over her head, he saw her parents making their way towards them. His mother, in particular, looked worried as she eyed him. Figures._

" _They're dead." He told her._

 _The little girl's eyes got really wide and her mouth opened up but before she couldn't say anything that he was sure would make this even more awkward, her mother seized her hand and pulled her close to her._

" _Allison! How many times do I have to tell you-" The woman began to yell angrily, worriedly._

" _But mommy-!" The girl protested._

 _He lit the cigarette and took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat._

 _Repeat. Repeat. Repeat._

 _Repeatrepeatrepeat._

 _Repeat . . . ._

* * *

" _Do you miss them?" The quiet voice asked, threading their fingers through his. He squeezed the hand. Hard._

" _Always."_

* * *

"Louis!" A pillow hit his face. "Wake the fuck up!"

He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, wrapping his arms around his head to protect himself. "How did you guys get in my room?"

"What? You doubt us?" Fred asked and he didn't have to look up to know the boy had an eyebrow raised at him in exasperation. Louis rolled his eyes.

George snorted. "It's not hard to solve your guys's riddles. Besides, Cho let us in." _Cho._

"Right. Now . . . why are you here?" He grumbled, admitting defeat and spinning around and sitting up properly. Fred stood by his bed, a pillow in his hands, and he sat down next to him when he noticed the boy moving. George sat at the edge of his bed, with his right leg pulled up under him and Natasha in his lap, purring as he pet her. Sanguini was wrapped around his shoulders and he briefly pondered how that happened before dismissing the thought. It didn't matter.

"You're kidding, right?" Fred rolled his eyes, both eyebrows raised this time. Louis raised one in return. Fred sighed dramatically and fell back onto the bed. "He's hopeless, Forge! Utterly hopeless."

George shook his head in disappointment, head hung down sadly. "It's Christmas, for Pete's sake, Louis. Christmas! Now come on, I want to unwrap presents."

"Get off your ass, Thompson." Fred said, pointing a finger at him in what he supposed was to be a threatening manner, standing up to follow his twin downstairs.

"I don't see why I have to be there for you to open presents," he rolled his eyes, throwing the covers back and biting back a groan at the sudden rush of cold air.

Fred and George paused in the doorway and looked at him. "Because you have presents, Thompson."  
He paused what he was doing, which was wrapping a blanket around his thin frame. "I have presents?"

Fred and George traded a look between each other before George smiled loosely at him, no longer in a hurry. ":yes, Louis, you do. Now come on."

He gave them a nod as they turned to head down the stairs and taking the chance, he cut his eyes to look at the mirror in his bathroom. Blue eyes and blonde hair. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god he thought to keep his core open while he slept. Just in case, yeah?

"These are all for me?" He asked astonished, eyes wide as he looked up at the two older boys.

Fred grinned at him. "Well of course they are! Do you know any other Louis's, Thompson?" To be fair, he didn't know any Louis's, he wasn't really Louis Thompson after all, but he refrained from actually saying that. He just shook his head and watched as the twins tour through the wrapping and at the gifts, eager looks on their faces. He would open his later.

He watched as Fred and George opened their presents from all of their friends and family, the two telling him in quiet tones who got them what. He appreciated that. From Lee Jordan, they were given a giant box of Zonko's products. From Hermione they both received study planners and books on preparing for your OWLS ("What is this? I want a Christmas present not one of my school supplies items!" "Those are two years away!"). Neville had gotten George a potted purple plant that he wasn't familiar with but apparently it giggled when you tickled it's leaves. Neville got Fred a new pair of gardening gloves and a book on Charms, the boys favorite and best subject. Draco had gotten them both an expensive looking silk scarf. Fred's was a dark purple with deep blue hues woven into it. George's was dark blue with emerald green hues. Tonks had gotten Fred a pair of bunny ears to place on his head; they were a bright pink and very soft. George received antlers that lit up in bright colors. They were also given some sugar quills and Beanie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. From their parents, they received a muggle radio and some tools from their dad with a note to experiment with it and how to put it back together and from their mum they received a hand knitted sweater each and a package of their favorite fudge: vanilla for Fred and peanut butter for George. They received some more candy and joke items from others, mostly the people on their quidditch team.

Slipping a red sweater with a green G over his head, Fred shoved one of Louis's presents closer to him. "Your turn, Boy Wonder."

"Oh no, I was going to-"  
"Now." Interrupted George with a pointed stare. Sighing, he picked the gift up and placed it in his lap.

The box was wrapped in silver wrappings with white ribbon and slowly undid the knot biding it, peeling the wrapper off gently, much to the twins exasperation. He ignored their comments of "just rip it!" and continued to unwrap it as gently as he could, folding it into a neat square when he was finished. Placing the folded square beside him, he turned to the gift and after looking back at the nametag, which said it was from Neville, he removed the lid.

Inside was a light brown jacket that he knew would be very warm, especially as the inside was lined with a soft, white wool. Lifting it out of the box, he smiled and held it against his chest. Only Neville would remember what he had said about needing to buy a new coat for next year. The boy had looked at him and said he needed one for this year as his had multiple tears and holes, which Louis had dismissed with a simple "they always do." Looks like that hadn't been good enough of an answer for the Hufflepuff. He felt extremely warmer now than he had when he walked down and he hadn't even put the coat on. He set it down next to him, arms folded in neatly, and moved to grab the next gift, which was from Hermione. Repeating with same care as the previous gift, he carefully unwrapped the gift, setting the paper to his side in a neat square, and opened the small box up. Inside, were two thick books and a pair of soft looking black gloves. He pulled out the gloves first, as they were on top of the sideways books, and after petting them, laid them atop the coat. Pulling out the books, he ran his fingers over their spines and read the titles. One of the books was on advanced defensive and offensive spells and the other was on transfiguration and it's practical uses in battle. He smiled at that. He and Hermione had had a discussion not even two weeks ago about Quirrell and how lacking he was and how they wished there was more for them to do in regards to proper studying. He himself had sent the girl a book on defense against the dark arts, though not for practical use as she was still covering mostly theory and creatures. He knew Hermione had also noticed his increase in books on charms and transfiguration and that was why she chose the second book, seeing as how their Head of House was the Charms professor and had no issue providing them with his own personal books if asked. The gloves he supposed had been sparked by Neville's gift and he was incredibly thankful for them. He had never really owned a pair before. Stacking the books up next to the coat and gloves, he opened his next gift, which was from Draco. Peering inside, he took note of the expensive looking white scarf, brown leather boots, and the long black cloak and immediately realized that his friends were working together. Running his hands down the length of the scarf, he picked up a little card that was resting along the boots and read that they would resize to fit his feet as he grew and that they should last until he was in his late teens. The cloak was a smooth but firm material that he figured were meant to compliment with the gloves. Perfect to protect against heavy downpours and wind. God, he really loved his friends. Swallowing thickly, he set them aside and opened the gift that he knew to be from the twins. It was a large box and on one side there was a stack of shirts, most of which were brightly colored, and they all had, upon closer inspection, funny drawings and sarcastic puns, some even witty. On the other side of the box was a book on ancient runes and arithmancy as well as a small box of joke products.

"Were just starting with experimentation but with all your help, we figured you could get the first samples." George said lowly, leaning over to tell him what each of the things in the box did. When he was finished Fred cleared his throat.

"We were just going to buy you two shirts-"

"-but we couldn't narrow it down-" continued George.

"-so we bought them all!" the two finished together with a shared smile.

He smiled silently at them, too emotional to say anything and, thankfully, they seemed to understand as they gave him a slow, meaningful nod. Clearing his throat, he set their gift aside and moved onto the next one, this one from Tonks.

Her gift was wrapped up in the most colorful paper he had seen and so he took even more care in salvaging it. Removing the lid of the surprisingly plain, white box, he was met with three pairs of pants, a couple pairs of mismatched socks (all of which were colorful and covered in random designs), a coffee cup that had been tied to some coffee beans and sugar (he had confided in the girl that he obsessively drunk it when it was available), and a book on metamorphagi that he had, surprisingly, not read. Opening it's cover, he learned why.

" _This book was from the Black family library, before Mom took it out. I don't think anyone would mind me sharing it with you. Merry Christmas, Louis."_

He closed the book and pressed it against his chest for about a second before placing it atop the others, not wanting to draw suspicion towards his actions. He sniffled and began to straighten his things up, to take them back to his room, when Fred spoke up.

"Hey, Louis, you've still got one." The redhead said, pointing towards a lumpy gift about a foot away from him. Frowning, Louis reached over and sure enough, there was his name. _Or rather, what they thought his name was._ His mind whispered traitorously. He shook his head.

"But I don't know anyone else."

"Ah yeah," George began, running a hand nervously through his hair, an impish grin on his face. "That's because it would be from our mum."  
"When she heard that you were staying here, that you lived at an orphanage, she decided to basically adopt you."  
"You're a Weasley now, Boy Wonder."

He continued to frown. "But I've never even met her."

"And that matters, why?" Asked Fred with a soft smile. "Face it, you're one of us now. Mum's just like that, Louis. Now open the present. It's probably a jumper. She makes one every year. Lee gets 'em too."

Still a little uncertain, he hesitantly unwrapped the package, still just as careful as he had been with the others though. Sure enough, inside was a plain dark blue wool knit jumper. He was surprised to find that it was wrapped around a tin, which, upon opening, he discovered was full of peanut butter fudge.

"You'll like those. Mum's a great cook."

Nodding distractedly, he slipped the jumper over his head and found that it was only a little bit bigger than his proper size. Perfect to grow into. He let the arms hang loose past his fingertips and wrapped his arms around his middle, hugging himself and breathing the scent in. It smelt like candy canes, wind, and pine. He wondered if that's what home smelt like.

* * *

Hours later, Louis was laying on his belly on his bed, reading a book. The twins had left about an hour ago to go outside and play in the snow (he hadn't wanted to go and they hadn't pushed him too, probably due to the way he was sure his face looked). They had spent the rest of the morning, after presents that is, sipping hot chocolate brought to them by a house elf (and weren't those interesting creatures) and playing some of the games Fred and George had.

On the floor, Natasha was happily playing with a ball that had a bell in it, swatting at the thing to make it jingle and roll. She had a thick red ribbon tied around her neck into a bow that he had put on her upon his return. She was getting pretty big, being 11 months old now, and was roughly the size of a medium sized full grown dog. He could feel the thumps of her feet as she walked. She would be too big for this room alone soon and he would need to talk to Flitwick. He wouldn't be able to bring her back to the orphanage; they would most definitely question a siberian tiger. A black kitten, no, but a tiger, yes.

Resting in his new tank on Louis's desk was Sanguini. He was sluggishly slumped against a large heated rock and was contentedly leaning towards the heat source above him. Louis had been hesitant to get his friend the tank as he knew Sanguini didn't like to be enclosed, but he had decided the creature needed a more natural environment and had made sure there was a way for him to leave the tank on his own in the form of a large cut hole in the side. Sanguin had been quite pleased and had even thanked him for it.

He felt very content, laying there on his bed. Surrounded by friends. He hadn't felt like this in a long time, if ever. He felt as if he were home and while he knew that on some level Hogwarts wasn't his home, he felt that it could be for the time being. He turned the page of his book before closing it.

He would work on the Disillusion Charm later. Right now, he saw no reason not to take Natasha outside to play in the snow as well. He knew from yesterday's outing that she enjoyed it. Smiling, he pushed up with his chest and rose from the bed. Time to go. For once, the books could wait.

 **A/N: Christmas was just supposed to be the very first part of this chapter but it ended up longer than I thought so I split it into two to stick with my general chapter size. Hope you guys liked this one.**

 **What should we do with our growing Natasha? I only have two ideas so anyone got a request?**

 **Thanks for reading. Next chapter we learn about the Sorcerer's Stone.**

 **Please review.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

" _Celaverimus."_ He said clearly, holding his wand in a firm grip as he swished it in a loose spiral before dragging it in a sharp almost z like line at the end. Eyes trained on the wooden square below him, he watched as it was all covered up with a very faint silver glow of magic that languidly stretched itself across the block, oozing down it's sides and stretching out. It was messy. Like an egg. The magic spread itself out and as it grew, the wooden square he had asked for from a house elf seemed to disappear into thin air. He knew better though. It was still there, he just couldn't see it well.

When the whole of the spell had covered the block, he could still see the soft silver glow. It resembled a hazy hue that one could see rising from a pool of water. It was something you wouldn't be completely sure if it was actually there or not. Fortunately for him though the magic stabilized itself and the glow faded away into nothingness. It didn't even leave a single dent in the air.

Feeling a rush of excitement rising within him at another round of success, he turned to the little cage he had resting on his nearest nightstand. In the cage was a little white mouse that was making small squeaky noises and scampering around in confused circles. It wasn't panicking oddly enough though. Standing up, Louis rushed over (in a completely controlled manner of course. He wasn't a heathen) and opened the top hatch, lowering his hand inside to carefully extract the creature. He sat back down on his bedspread and loosely curled his fist around the mouse so that it could still breathe but remain still enough for him to work. Lifting his wand, he repeated the same motions and as before, watched the same response occur as he successfully casted the spell on a living creature.

For the next ten minutes, Louis repeated the spell (both casting and cancelling) on the white mouse until he gathered enough courage to ask Sanguini if he would mind. He then gathered what little bit of recklessness he secretly possessed to steer Natasha towards the bed when Sanguini just viciously hissed at him and swallowed the mice, sinking his venom filled fangs into its fur. Fun. After practicing with Nat (which was a lot more dangerous than you would even think, which was definitely saying something), he was able to have enough confidence to practice on himself. He had been doing this all day after all and it was night time, the perfect time to take a stroll. He had promised Hermione to look for Flamel after all. Restricted Section and all that.

Swallowing thickly, he nervously ran a hand through his hair, lips twitching to the left and scrunching his nose up in the process. Lifting his wand he casted the spell, lightly tapping the op of his head, and almost immediately felt the sensation of something running down his head. Like an egg, indeed.

Fifteen more minutes later, after pressing the reset button many times and checking himself out in the mirror to look for holes in the spell, Louis stepped out of the Common Room, his wand gripped firmly in his fist, thumb resting along its point. Gosh, he was nervous. He really hoped he didn't snap the poor thing. It was kind of important. Just a little bit.

He walked the halls of Hogwarts, hearing the soft snores of the paintings that hung on the walls and the distant echoes of his footsteps against the stone cold cobblestones (which he immediately casted another spell to fix). He smelt wind, the cool winter kind that rushed into your face and burned your nose and cheeks but left you feeling indescribably clean. He could feel the lack of candles and fires as goosebumps rose on his skin, making him shiver violently, his whole body jerking with a flinch. Closing his eyes, he trained his ears to go past the snores and to listen to the sound of the world beyond these walls, through the large glass windows and thick stone. He could feel himself taking a deep breath, breathing it all in. These were the moments he lived for. The moments when all was silent and the others were asleep. The moments when it was just him and the world. Together. He loved these moments. They always reminded him how small he was in the grand scheme of things, just a mere speck within the universe. And if he was that small, that insignificant, then him failing and messing up wouldn't be that bad. Not really.

That's what he liked to tell himself anyway. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe in it.

By the time he had made it to the library, he was shivering quite viciously. He had been quite stupid to not bring a jacket, though to be far he had been excited to go and investigate. His warming charms hadn't lasted very long either, despite being well powered. He supposed he'd have to work on his endurance.

The door to the library wasn't locked so he was able to swing it open easily, the door squeaking loudly into the night. He knew it wasn't any louder than it normally was, that it was just a sensory trick, but he still felt his nerves increase. He really hoped his disillusionment charm didn;t fall during this. He didn't want to get caught and he figured Filch would be making his rounds this way soon.

He made his way over to the restricted section very quickly, being quite familiar with the library by now, and quietly let himself in. He ran his fingers over the spines, mind running with the thought of what these books must contain, what kind of knowledge he could gain from them. But he knew he wasn't there for that and so he had to forcefully bring himself to focus. Focus . . . . Thinking fast and hard, he tried to think of the kind of books someone named Nicholas Flamel could be in. What kind of books would some guy you know nothing about be in?

Sounds like an easy plan, Lousi! Way to go!

He hated being himself sometimes.

And so he did something extremely reckless in the restricted section of a library that was based at a school for magic: he began to open them at random.

And, being him, with his luck, the very first book he opened had a loud shrill voice shriek directly from it's opened pages, breaking the silence within the before, quite quiet library. Panicking slightly, he slammed the book shut and shoved it precariously back onto the shelf, jamming it into its neighbors a little bit and jostling the row, forcing him to pause and struggle to organize and move them enough with his fingers to be able to slide it in. Now, annoyed and with swollen fingers, he hastily checked his spell, determined it was still in place, and practically ran out of the library, ignoring the exciting pants of Flich behind him.

His feet carried him out of the library and into the hall, where he ran down multiple corridors, taking random turns at every other interval, and ultimately making himself lost and dizzy until he was too exhausted to even move. Leaning against the closest stone wall, he breathed down gulps of air, face and chest burning. He could feel a stitch forming on his side and he made a note to workout more (or rather to start anyway (the mere thought alone made him silent a scoff)). Tipping his head back, he allowed his intakes to slow down and worked on relaxing his aching body. Was this what dying felt like? The hall really was seeming to fade away.

A voice broke him out of his deathly wonderings though, a voice that made his spine straighten. He listened closely as Filch seemingly found Professor Snape with ease and informed him of some wayward student in the restricted section that was currently roaming the halls. Eyes widening, he glanced around for a more convenient place to hide and found a door not but a couple of feet away and slowly made his way towards it, closing the heavy door behind him quietly by inching it along in millimeters at a time. It was a painstakingly slow and nerve wracking process. Snape and Filch were surely going to find and kill him and while he didn't particularly hate either one of them, their detentions were legendary. He pressed his body against the door of the room, ears strained to listen. Lucky for him, he had done a many of nighttime sneaking and eavesdropping at the orphanage and knew how to do this with ease. Stealing random books of information from the library? No. Stealing and spying in general? Yes. After a minute of listening to the two professors incoherent mumblings not even a corridor away, he heard the faint sounds of their retreating footsteps and fought a sigh of relief. Allowing his shoulders to relax, he spun around and looked around the room he had hidden himself away in for the time being.

For the most part, it was relatively empty. To his left were a couple of either tall or wide objects covered in heavy, white sheets. A stack of boxes were in the corner and he wondered, briefly, what was inside them but decided not to look. Judging by the layers of dust atop them, someone would both a)not notice he was here within a matter of hours but b)know eventually that someone had indeed been snooping. And that was something he didn't want someone to know considering the giant mirror that rested within the center of the room.

It was tall, easily about as twice as tall as Louis himself (yes, even in his current, taller form. He imagined how much taller it would be than Harry and had to remind himself, once again, that the two of them were, in fact, the same person). It was made of some heavy, cold stone that was pale in color. Due to the lack of light in the room he couldn't quite say whether it was a very light grey stone or a pale white one. Running his hand over it, he felt the smooth sides and random ridged where pieces had been chipped off and not repaired. Looking up he read the inscription etched into the stone, accompanied by a smattering of complexly linked runes, and allowed his brain to work the letters out to read it properly.

 _I show not your face but your heart's desire._

Ah. So this was the famed Mirror of Erised. He, like many before him, had of course read about the magical beauty, a significant contribution as any. An innocently perceived dangerous one at that. Men had gone insane peering into it's panes.  
He was hesitant to look. Did he want to know what he desired more than anything? What his heart ached for? If he did look, would he ever be able to look away? He didn't want to wilt away at the mere sight of his wildest dreams. That's all they were really. Dreams. They were not real, just ideas. And even if he did look who is to say that what he saw was exactly what his heart desired? There wasn't a lot to back the theory behind the mirror other than the countless deaths before it but what if that wasn't caused by a fascination with the perceived untouchable but rather some enchantment that ensnared the viewer's mind, making them a prisoner to this huge chunk of glass and stone? Logically, his rational mind argued that the very runes encrypted were enough evidence to prove this and the many accounts from witnesses that had seen the mirror, seen its reflection, and survived. He knew this and yet . . . .

In the end the curiosity was too great to ignore, damn the consequences.

Stepping closer, he centered himself and locked eyes with his reflection. Only it wasn't his reflection. At least, not the one that it should be. Before him was Harry. Sweet, innocent, broken Harry. Only in this mirror he wasn't broken. The boy staring back at him did not know pain, had not known grief or fear. His eyes had not lost the brightness of life and happiness, of freedom. Harry was smiling at him with a gentle curve to lips, eyes peering at him with a crystal clarity of green gems. Except they were not the same shade of those jewels but rather the shade of evergreen leaves and other bits of forestry. Not a single speck of hazel. No scars marvelled his smooth skin and there were no dark circles and even though the boy was wearing clothes, covering up his figure, Louis knew he wouldn't find a single scar and wouldn't be able to count the child's ribs because that was what this Harry was. A child. Just like he used to be. Before.

Harry wasn't alone either though. With an arm wrapped around his waist and his arm wrapped around hers, the two children in the frame clung to each other, chest to chest, smiling softly at him. She was about the same height, maybe a little shorter, and had a bit more curves than the boy. She blinked up at him with hazel eyes, the color of warm milk chocolate peeking out, begging to be appreciated. Her chin was tipped up a little and her lips rested in a smiling pout that teased any viewer with mischief. Bright, curly reddish orange hair, almost auburn, hung past her shoulders in loose curls and everything about her screamed peace. It made him want to stare longer, to bask in the feeling the two projected onto him: peace and tranquility. Innocence. But he tore his eyes away and focus on the others.

With a hand resting on Harry's shoulder, a man that looked disturbingly similar smiled sadly down at him. His face was gentle and held what would one day be many laugh lines. Or would have been anyway. Like Harry, the man had an angular face and defined jaw, black messy hair that looked effortless. But looking at the woman next to him, her hand on the girl's shoulder, he knew that the two males were not identical. The boy had a softness that was almost feminine to him that clearly came from this woman. The woman who shared the same dainty figure as the children, the same curves as the little girl, and the same fiery hair. He knew without a doubt who these people were, all of them, and he bit down on his lips, not wanting to acknowledge them.

He knew it would only be harder if he did.

He left not long after that and he did not return until the day before winter break was over. The mirror was gone when he returned and he did not feel guilty for the relief that passed over him upon noticing. That did not stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks later that night, in bed, though.

* * *

"A Chocolate Frog card?" He repeated, staring at the person across from him as if they were a talking tea cup. Scratch that. That wasn't nearly as absurd as it should be considering they attended a magic school. Still. The idea was crazy.

" _Yes!_ " Neville repeated a third time, rolling his eyes as a spark of annoyance leaked it's way into his voice. "It was just right there. _Dumbledore is_ _particularly famous for his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel_!"

We all continued to stare at him and Neville huffed angrily.

"I'm serious!"  
"Aha!" Fred suddenly exclaimed, clutching something in his hand as he and George rose from the jumbled up pile they had in a box. He thrusted it into the air to reveal a chocolate frog card. Plucking it from his fingers, George scanned it with his eyes before giving a nod. "He's right. Flamel really is on here. Wow. . . Neville found a clue. First for everything, huh?"

"Oh, give me that." snapped Hermione somewhat moodily as Neville threw his hands up in indignation.

"I've found pretty much all the clues!" He protested, glaring angrily at the twins, who offered grins in apology.

"He's right you know." Tonks nodded seriously and Louis fought a smile because it really was true. Neville seemed to know everything. It was kind of frightening actually.

"Of course!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed and all eyes swivelled to focus on her, startled by how loud she had been. It seemed Ms. Pince agreed for she shushed them all with a glare and purse of her lips. He could feel the projected saliva from here. Gross. Hermione blushed in embarrassment and mumbled an apology before turning back to them.

"Draco, remember that book we read before break? The one on alchemy?" She asked, all excited, and Louis had to push back the curiosity of the two having had spent some time together, apparently alone and willingly at that. Draco blinked, momentarily stunned at being talked to, before his mouth fell open and he slapped himself on the forehead.

"Circe, we are such idiots." He moaned. Hermione nodded frantically, shaking in excitement, before bounding up and rushing away, muttering about grabbing a book and being back in a second.

"Alchemy?" Louis questioned, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What does that have to - oh my gods I'm so stupid. _Of course_." He unintentionally mimicked his friends, not even noticing. Tonks did though and smiled in his direction.

Hermione came back, carrying a giant book, which she let fall ungracefully onto the table before she started flipping through pages. Sure enough it was the same book Louis himself had read not that long ago too. He and Draco stood and flanked her sides. The others rose slightly from their seats to peer closer.

"Draco and I were having a discussion after class one day about obscure and lesser studied branches of magic and we got onto the topic of alchemy."  
"What's alchemy?" One of them interrupted. Louis wasn't paying enough attention to notice who, his mind a million miles away.

"Shh," Hermione waved them off. "Not important right now. Anyway, it mentions in this book the major contributions to the subjects after going into a deep introduction and see here _Nicholas Flamel is most known for the creation of the Sorcerer's Stone._ That's what it is! That's what they're hiding on the third floor!"

The twins stared wide eyed at them, faces kind of pale. "We have-"

"-a Sorcerer's Stone-

"-inside our school?"

Tonks shook her head. " _Are they crazy?!_ Why the hell would you put such a sought after artifact that people try to steal all the damn time inside a _fucking school_?!"

"Well," Draco started "Hogwarts is perceived as one of the safest places in the world. It'd be crazy to come here. They say only Gringott's is safer and considering there was a break in in July over something that had been recently removed . . . I'd say Flamel gave it to his good pal Dumbledore to hold onto for him."  
"But that's insane." Tonks argued, throwing her hands up in the air. "Why here? Why Dumbledore?"

"She has a point," George conceded. "I mean, look at it this way. First of all, Flamel's kept his own location, much less the Stone's, a secret for centuries. Why move it now? Second, it's not like him and Dumble's are best friends. Sure they worked together but that's the only mention of the two of them together. Why would Flamel let some old work partner hold onto something as important as the Stone, especially considering the guy is a Headmaster for a school?"  
"A school Flamel didn't even attend at that. He went to Beauxbatons and everyone knows that school is about as well protected as Hogwarts. Why not send it there?"

"This whole thing is crazy. Putting the Sorcerer's Stone in a school full of children. It's obviously in danger and with it being here that puts us in danger! It's so unnecessary and avoidable and there are literally so many better options for it but no we go with "let's put the rock with idiotic children, irresponsible adults, and thieves!" Great idea! See, this is why I'm going to be an auror." Tonks was practically seething in rage and Louis couldn't bring himself to blame her. People were putting children's lives in danger and for someone as concerned with safety and justice as Tonks, Louis knew it would hit a sore spot.

The others hummed and nodded their agreements, some more readily than others, and a moment of silence settled between them, which was soon broken by Neville's soft tone of voice.

"A Sorcerer's Stone though. Could you imagine? Dependent immortality and all the gold you could ever want. If I had one, I could keep Gran running for a long time, maybe find a cure for some kind of disease no one's had the time for." He said this last part somewhat bitterly. Louis had to look away.

The twins nodded together and seemed to settle on the same answer for only George spoke. "We could start our joke shop and repay our parents. Make it towards where they don't have to work their asses off ever again. They deserve that for once." Fred hummed. Louis felt his lip switch in sad fondness. People really didn't appreciate the twin's kindness, didn't even recognize its presence.

"I'd be more for the immortality myself. Imagine the places I could see. The people I could meet, things I could do" Draco said whimsically.

Hermione pursed her lips into a thin line. "Imagine the things you could learn. The books you could find, secrets to discover."

"What about you, Louis? What would you do with it?" Draco asked, peering over at his first real friend curiously. The others brought their gazes over to look and listen too.

He hummed tiredly. "I wouldn't do anything with it. I don't want the money; I'd rather earn it. As for immortality, I don't think I would ever want to live forever. It, living that is, would get tiring real fast." _It already is._ "My friends would all die eventually, family too if I ever have one. I'd be alone in the long run, full of memories and ideas no one would understand or share. It would be a lonely existence and that would be all that it is. It wouldn't even really be living. Just existing. I don't want that." _I have it now._

They fell into silence, this one not quite as comfortable as the previous one as they mulled over his words. He hadn't lied though. He wouldn't want all the money and time in the world. It would mean nothing to him, not like it would to others.

"I think I'd buy a muggle amusement park. Get one of those roller coasters or whatever you call them." Tonks quipped and the others broke out into laughter, lips forming smiles and ignoring the glare Ms. Pince was once more sending them, Louis allowed one to form on his own face.

He couldn't help but think it felt forced and yet, he didn't think he'd forget this moment.

Years later he would look back on this moment and credit it with being the inspiration he had for many, many things. Louis didn't know that now though and just continued to watch.

 **A/N: Hey guys, I am so so sorry for this late and kind of short update. My laptop randomly deleted A LOT of files, including the ones for this story, and it took me a minute to 1)realize they were gone and 2)to come up with a solution. Luckily, I was able to recover some of them but unfortunately I lost a lot for my own, individual ideas and so 've been working on that. I've also been kinda down lately, lacking motivation and whatnot, so I'm still trying to . . . jumpstart myself so to speak. It's not working but I'm trudging through anyway, which is why this chapter is so short. I don't really like this chapter but . . . oh well. Next chapter is going to be a HUGE plot point and I am sooooo excited for it, like you don't even know haha.**

 **Anyway . . .**

 **Please review and thanks for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Okay so for today I figured we could have some fun. Real fun." Tonks began, as she recrossed her legs once more and shifted closer to him.

In front of her, Louis sat with his legs also crossed and eagerly leant forward for another lesson in metamorphagi. "Like what?"

Tonks adjusted her legs once more, releasing an annoyed sigh as she huffed, causing some bangs that had fallen in front of her eyes to shift forward before falling limply back to where they were. She focused her gaze back on him.

"Well, we already know that you can change your eyes, hair, weight, and facial bone structure, as well as your height to an extent and I'm pretty confident in your speed and agility with them, for the transitions are pretty smooth and quick, almost unnoticeable now, which is great. So we have a few options.

We can have an easy lesson where we just work with more abstract colors and goofy faces and limbs, like animals. The human body is programmed to work with the things that other, everyday humans can have so brown eyes and blonde hair comes easy but our bodies aren't normal and can manipulate our genes to in a sense "create" new options. Purple hair would be harder to bring forth and manage than black but it's not impossible. Not for us. The same can be said about the rest of our body. Humans are used to having fine hair and thin maybe button like noses. They're used to having a somewhat angular face and straight arms full of bones. They're used to limitations but we don't have to be. You want to have scales? Go for it. Gorilla fur instead of thin arm hair? Sure. A beak from a peacock instead of a nose and soft lips? Awesome. We can do whatever we want and we haven't gone outside the regular human limitations yet so we could start that day or save it for later on. Whenever.

Option number two is that we work more on your other limbs. Focusing on height especially since that's a starting point and one that can be invaluable. If we can get you to more intuned with your height we can work on the proper adjustments for the other features of your body, since they have to be proportional. That won't be quite as fun, pretty boring and kinda painful honestly, but a needed lesson nonetheless.

Or we could just do nothing and just talk. Maybe play 20 questions back and forth. I'm pretty tired from all that studying so I am all for option three. Your choice though."

Louis looked over Tonks's face and even though he knew others would just chalk up her appearance to being somewhat tired, he knew it was more than that. Here, they dropped as many transitions as they were willing to and as such they were their truest forms together in this room. Louis knew, like Tonks knew, that very few people would ever see a metamorphagus's true, original form. It was a very private matter, a secret that they held close to their chest. It was an intimate confession really. As a baby, many metamorphagus's would show signs within the first couple of days and like all babies, the first couple of days wouldn't show their actual appearnmace, just the standard baby looks, like blue eyes, and as such, even parents found it hard to distinguish the real traits of their child. Growing up the metamorphagi powers would be unstable, they would flunctuate and appear out of nowhere, would conceal certain things subconsciously. Louis knew for a fact that he had a birthmark on his shoulder and yet he had never really taken the time to look at it, could not recall seeing it, and yet, he knew it was there. He remembered when he was younger how his eyes would shift themselves from green to blue over the course of days, just slowly blending and clearing the colors out themselves. On the days his eyes were a clear blue, Petunia would give him breakfast. He thought of the countless scars and bruises and cuts his powers had concealed for him during his sleep, hiding the truth from the rest of the world, from his classmates and teachers, but would show as soon as his uncle came to gather him for dinner later on those nights. There were even days when his hair would look more like brown than black or where it would have subtle shades of red in it. Louis knew that when he looked in the mirror for Harry he wasn't really seeing all of the boy, just the parts that he was searching for that day. Sometimes, when it was really dark and he would ignore the lights, he would release the boy, the face, and stare at him, never truly seeing him. Even to Louis his face was a secret.

And so, when he looked at Tonks he saw what others would, could, not for she knew he understood and trusted him with parts of her secret, as he did her. When his bright green eyes locked on her warm, chocolate ones, he was able to take note of the deep circles beneath them, as he was sure she did his. He could look at her angular face with the high cheekbones and hope she didn't see a very similar one in his own, for he knew he was revealing that too. Her hair remained in it's traditionally short pixie that she always sported around school, but oinstead of it's currently classical hot pink, it was black tinted with a subtle, dark purple hue. His remained the dark blonde, somewhat messy flat hair it always was. She was curvier here than out there, her chest not as prominent and he was skinnier, much skinnier, not as much as he really was mind you but still enough to cause the worry lines he saw on her face. She was taller here too, it was harder to tell with her sitting down, but he was able to notice the three or more inches. Unlike her, he chose to remain the same height. He was already one of the shorter boys, even being at the average height, he didn't need to be the actual shortest of them all. They revealed their truest selves to each other and he wondered if they would ever know the most basics of the other, if she would ever show him her scars and freckles and smile or if he would ever reveal his hair and shoulders and laugh. He wondered if she would ever tell him the real reason she hated being called Nymphadora or if he would ever tell her his name was actually Harry. He wanted to know the answers to these questions and yet was afraid to ask them. Instead he answered her own, knowing he could see it in her own face.

"Let's just talk. I've been pretty tired lately, myself." He said and bit back a smile as she breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed back onto the floor. Lips twitching, he moved to lie down beside her. He felt proud when only a microscopic flinch occured when she linked his hand with hers, fingers lacing through one another, and scooted closer to rest her head atop his shoulder. Briefly he thought it weird that she was resting atop him when he was the eleven year old and her the seventeen. Shouldn't the older one be on top? Dismissing the irrelevant question away, he blinked and breathed through his nose, centering himself.

"Hmm . . . okay, I'll start. Favorite color?" She said in a bubbly half-whisper. He frowned.

"Seriously? My favorite color? That's the best you've got?" He snarked and laughed when she playfully swatted his side.

"Shut up and answer the damn question." She growled with a grin. Shaking his head with mirth, he said red.

"Red? Really? I always saw you as a mellow toned blue kind of guy." She mused allowed, narrowing her eyes at him.

He blinked. "Tonks . . . what the fuck?"

She gasped in an over exaggerated show of shock. "Louis! Such foul language for a precious lamb as yourself!"

Staring blankly at her, he simply replied, "Blame the twins and Draco."

She continued to stare at him in shock for a few more seconds before they both collapsed into a fit of tiny giggles.

"Okay okay . . . your turn."

"Hmm . . . what's your favorite food?" He offered lamely. Honestly, this game was harder than it looks. Tonks threw him an amused smirk but thankfully refrained from saying anything.

"Meatloaf." She replied easily enough. He scowled in disgust.

"Ew. Okay. Next."

"When's your birthday?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious. He blinked and gave her the answer that he had given for a few years now.

"December 31st." He didn't know when exactly he had decided to "change" the day he was born or why he had picked that particular day, but he did know that it had been a necessity. When he had first arrived at the orphanage, they had asked him what his birthday was, that they needed to know how old he was, and he had told them his age instead of a date, knowing then that he didn't, couldn't, be Harry anymore. Harry's birthday was July 31, Louis's was not. When he had met Shira, she had told him that it was a well known fact that Harry Potter was born at the end of July. The exact day was never officially confirmed but the idea itself was enough to give him caution. When they had begun to craft Louis Thompson together, she had suggested changing his birthdate, that he could still celebrate it close to the 31st or even on it, by himself, with her maybe, but that when asked, he shouldn't give the real answer. She hadn't known then that he had already given himself a new day to claim as his own. Perhaps he chose the last day of the year because of some symbolic metaphor or maybe it was just because that was the day he finally realized it or something. He didn't know and at the moment didn't care either.

Tonks twisted her head around so fast that he was concerned for her neck. "What? We like just missed your birthday and you didn't even say anything?!"

He blinked, honestly confused about her reaction. "Tonks it's just a birthday. It literally means nothing to me. In fact, I would prefer you to _not_ celebrate it at all, ever. Now. When is your birthday?" He countered, making it clear that this side of the conversation was over and he wanted nothing more to be said about it. She gave him a look that clearly suggested she wanted to argue but with a pinched frown, refrained from doing so.

"May 16." She replied, sounding slightly sullen and a little angry.

He nodded. "I'll make sure we celebrate it then. Put Gred and Forge in charge of that."  
Her eyes got comically wide and all hints of bitterness left her face as fear crept it. "Louis, I swear to God if you do . . .

"Favorite holiday?" She asked softly, eyes on the ceiling where paint was chipping at weird angles.

Louis frowned. Most children his age would immediately answer with Christmas but he had never liked Christmas all that much. He supposed Halloween was next, but he disliked that one even more. Tonks didn't really know these things though and probably wouldn't ever, especially not the reasons behind them, so he simply said the only one tha came to mind. "New Years."

"Really?" She asked, voice and eyebrows raised high in surprise as she turned her head to stare at his face. He remained staring straight ahead. "Why?"

"Because every year we can vow to be a new person, to start over. It holds a certain power to us, symbolizes rebirth to us in a way. If you think about it it doesn't make sense considering that January first probably isn't the exact "date" that a new year happens since that probably wasn't the day Earth was formed but that doesn't really matter. I just like how to us on that day we decide we can be someone new, be something new. That we can have a blank state and start over."

They sat in silence for a while then, Tonks with her head on his shoulder and Louis with his body kind of curled up against her longer one, both now staring up at the ceiling. Tonks turned her body so that she was curled up against him and threw her arm across his stomach and thrusted her leg to set between his own. He felt small with her like this, like a child pretending to pretend at playing grown-up (for he knew that he had never really had the chance to pretend any of that). She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and he felt the air warm there as she inhaled and exhaled his scent. He wondered if she smelt nothing like he did or if she could actually smell the lavender scent that had been gifted to him (girly sure but he liked it. Society had said men should smell like the outside but he was tired of smelling that way. It made him feel dirty). He shifted his arm that was pinned between them where they still had their hands linked.

"Louis?" She whispered against his neck, words ghosting over his sensitive skin.

"Yeah?" He whispered back. He felt her arm, the one across his stomach, tighten around his waist, squeezing him against her even more.

"Why are you so skinny?" The words came out quietly, in a soft whisper that could barely be heard by anyone, but to him they were louder than anything. He swallowed, thinking of the days from before, in his cupboard and on the kitchen floor, thought of the harsh winters in France where he stood on street corners, thought of the brown oatmeal that clumped together in small mounds at the bottom of their chipped, mismatched bowls, thought of Shira and Professor Flitwick and their brief outings. He thought of his days at Hogwarts spent over a porcelain bowl and the days spent in a ball on his bed with the lights off. He thought of the tightness in his chest whenever he sat down for breakfast and the heavy swallow he gave at dinners. He thought of these things and yet . . .

. . . he didn't respond.

* * *

"-and if you wave your wand the way you're doing right now you're most likely going to end up like Seamus at the end of Charms." Louis heard Draco deadpan as he approached their table in the library. Sitting across from the blonde was Neville, who immediately stilled his hand holding his wand with a shriek. Louis fought a scoff when the boy's other hand clasped over his eyebrows in panic.

"What are you guys doing?" He asked, placing his books down atop the table and taking the seat adjacent to Draco's and at the head of the table. Hermione, who was reading in the seat on Draco's left side, looked up.

"They're studying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts final. Quirrel gave them the notes for it this morning in class."

"Even though it's not for another two months." Neville grumbled under his breath. The two Ravenclaws and Draco, the closet nerd, ignored him.

"Hey, speaking of Quirrel, has he seemed a little off to anyone lately?" Tonks asked the group as she bent down to retrieve some ink from her bag, parchment sitting out in front of her at her seat between Neville and George.

"What do you mean?" Asked Fred, who sat next to Hermione's left. He was tinkering with something in his hand that Louis vaguely thought looked like handcuffs.

"The better question is when hasn't he appeared a little off?" George snorted. Tonks elbowed him in the ribs.

"Be serious for once! He just looks a little shady lately is all. I saw him sneaking around the corridors last week."  
"Sneaking around?" Neville frowned.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He was probably just working his shift. You know the teachers walk the corridors for wayward students and trouble makers, Tonks." Hermione said pointedly, looking at George and Tonks before shifting her eyes over to Fred and, briefly, Louis. They all returned her gaze with wide, innocent eyes.

"What day was this? And when?" Louis asked the metamorphagus, pretending he hadn't noticed Hermione's gaze. He played some pranks, sure, but literally no one but the occupants of this table knew that. He liked being the silent partner.

Tonks looked at him oddly before responding slowly, "Tuesday, around 11. Why?"  
"It wasn't his shift." Louis and the twins all responded at the same time.

Draco blinked and stared at the trio, as did the others. "And you guys know this how?"  
George waved a dismissive hand. "We memorized their shift schedule. They change it everyone once in awhile, obviously, but we know for a fact that they're still on their current rotation."

"It was Victor's shift Tuesday at that time. She worked that night with McGonagall." Louis supplied helpfully.

"Why do you know the shift schedule?!" Hermione asked, bewildered. Her eyes were wide and her tone sounded slightly strained, as if she were restraining herself from saying something else. The twins and Louis exchanged glances but shrugged their shoulders, hands clasped neatly in front of them, and remained silent.

Draco sighed. "Nevermind that. What was Quirrel doing out and about then? Surely he wasn't taking a nightly stroll?"

Hermione leveled a gaze at Fred, who was the closest one of the three to her, clearly making a point that they were going to discuss this later, but turned her head around to answer anyway. "I doubt it. Everyone knows to clear the halls by then, even the professors."

"Where did you see him anyway, Tonks?"

The girl frowned, tapping her lips with her pointer finger before making some kind of exclamation. "He was just leaving the -oh."  
"What?" Neville questioned anxiously, leaning forward in his seat.

"He was leaving the third floor corridor."  
The group fell silent, all thinking the same thing.

"I thought Snape was the one after the Stone?" Hermione said after a moment.

"Maybe they're working together?" offered Draco.

Neville shook his head. "That's very possible."

"Why do you say that?" Louis asked the Hufflepuff patiently.

Neville bit his lip. "I promised him I wouldn't tell . . . "  
"Who?" A few voices chorused.

"Ron Weasley. He heard something." Confessed Neville easily enough.

"Ron?" The twins spoke together, each confused with surprise.

Neville nodded. "He was walking by the Quidditch rooms after one of the earlier games to tell you guys something when he saw Snape and Quirrel nearby in the Forest. Arguing. Ron said it sounded like Snape was threatening the man. Talked about loyalties and mentioned the Stone. Ron didn't remember what kind of stone he said but it's pretty obvious to us, here."

"I heard Quirrel and Snape talking over Christmas break too. Couldn't hear what was said though." confessed Louis.

"Wasn't Quirrel there Halloween night too? Hanging around the halls, doing nothing helpful?" Neville said, turning to the twins for confirmation.

"That's right. We passed by him looking for you guys." George offered the others, who were looking at them in confusion.

"Well, Quirrel definitely looks suspicious now. I wouldn't be surprised if he was working with Snape."  
"Would Snape really lower himself to work with Quirrel of all people though, I mean honestly can you even imagine that partnership working out?" Reasoned Hermione, looking at them imploringly.

Draco twisted his quill around tightly. "She's got a point. I can't imagine those two working well together. Snape would kill him for stuttering in five minutes, easy."

"Well if they're not working together what's up with them?" Argued Tonks.

"I don't know what's going on with Snape and Quirrel but I don't think they're working together. What I want to know is what Quirrel's role is in all of this. Maybe he's the one after the Stone?" Hermione pondered alone.

George scoffed. "Quirrel? After the Stone? Hermione, that man wouldn't even make it past Fluffy without pissing himself." Fred and Tonks nodded their heads in agreement.

The burnette pursed her lips. "You shouldn't underestimate him so much. He's qualified for the DADA position isn't he?"  
Draco smirked. "He was probably the only applicant, truthfully."  
"I heard he taught Muggle Studies a couple of years ago before taking a sabbatical." said Neville unexpectedly.

Louis snapped his fingers. "Focus."  
"Well, _I_ think Quirrel might be after the Stone." Hermione said, crossing her arms moodily.

"Maybe they're competing against each other." Offered Neville.

"That doesn't make much sense either though. Why ask about loyalties if that were the case alone?"  
"Maybe it isn't. There's a good chance we're missing something. Something big that we just don't have the pieces for yet." said Louis softly.

"Maybe . . . maybe someone can offer us some answers? Maybe not to these questions specifically but in general?" Hermione began hesitantly, fiddling with the lining of her robe.

"Like who?" Draco turned in his seat.

"Nicholas Flamel."

They wrote the letter that day, sending it out the next morning with Tonks's owl.

* * *

"You WHAT?" Hermione yelled, hands clasped into fists at her sides.

They were all outside, standing in the slightly chilly air by the oak tree near the lake. They were the only ones outside, most not willing to be out in this temperature for no reason. Hermione was standing angrily in front of a cowering Neville, a sheepish Tonks, two slightly guilty looking Weasley's, and one impassive Louis. Behind her stood Draco, who was attempting to conceal his snickers, judging by the slight shake in his shoulders and the poorly hidden grin.

"I told you about the dragon egg, Hermione!" Neville yelled, eyes impossibly wide in his fear. "Hagrid needed my help!"

"That doesn't explain how you all single handedly lost over 500 house points and got detention in a single night!" The girl raged, eyes cutting over them all.

"He has a wooden house, Hermione! Wooded! With a dragon! A dragon, Hermione!" Neville continued to yell.

"What Neville is trying to say," Tonks interrupted with a quiet sigh "is that we were just trying to help out a friend."

Hermione looked at the older girl and breathed heavily through her nose. "Explain."  
"I bumped into Hagrid in the library. He was carrying books on how to train and care for a newly hatched dragon and books on different breeds. I told you about two months ago that he got an egg, remember? Where it had just hatched when I bumped into him. I followed him back to his hut and saw the thing. After talking to him about the dangers, both for him and the dragon, he agreed to safely send it where it needed to be. So I went to Tonks. She would know what to do." Neville said all of this in a rush, struggling to breathe as he stumbled carelessly over his own words.

Hermione turned her gaze onto the pink haired seventh year. "When Neville informed me of the dragon I knew immediately who to talk to: Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?" Draco asked from behind Hermione.

"Our older brother." said Fred.

"And Tonksie's ex boy toy." Snickered George. Tonks turned and glared angrily at him.

"Why Charlie? What could he do?"  
"Charlie works at a dragon reserve in Romania." Tonks explained. "So I went to the twins to get them to ask him for his help."  
"And they got Charlie to come pick up the dragon and you all got caught sneaking back into the castle afterwards, since you obviously had to do this at night." Hermione reasoned out, nodding her head as if she was just confirming something she had figured out a long time ago. They all nodded their heads quickly.

Hermione frowned and turned to look at him. "That doesn't explain what you were doing there." She accused.

He shrugged. "I was there when they came for the twins and got roped into the adventure."

She blinked before sighing, shaking her head. "Why does none of this surprise me?"

Wisely, none of them answered.

* * *

 _Dear Mr. Lupin,_

 _I'm not sure if you will ever read this letter, if you will even want to. I think I could understand if you didn't. You have understandably been through a lot and wouldn't want to add more pain onto that. I wouldn't want to be the cause of that pain._

 _I should probably start by stating my name. I'm Harry Potter and as far as I can understand, you seemed to have been great friends with my parents. I know this will be asking a lot but . . . I was wondering if perhaps you could tell me about them? No one has ever done so before and I really want to know more about them. I can understand if it's too hard for you though. Really I can and should your answer be no, I will respect your wishes._

 _There is another matter I would like to discuss with you but it would be best to save for a more appropriate time. Maybe once we know more about each other. If that ever happens, that is. I would be grateful if you would agree to meet with me over the summer, as I'm almost finished with my first year of schooling. If you are willing, we can discuss meeting places and times._

 _Regardless of your answer, I am sure you are aware on some level that not many people know of my current location but what you may that know is that even Albus Dumbledore has no clue as to where I am. Many people are looking for me, Mr. Lupin, and I don't want them to find me. I ask that you keep our correspondence and any future interaction a secret, for my safety if nothing else. I would appreciate this greatly._

 _I hope to hear from you soon._

 _Harry Potter_

* * *

 _Mr. Black,_

 _I know you are innocent._

 _H.J.P._

* * *

" _Who are you?" A voice whispered from his right. His neck twitched, aching to turn, to see._

 _He stared forward, spine straight as he sat perched on the edge of the black stool._

" _Who are you?" It whispered again, closer this time._

 _His breaths came out ragged and strained, as if someone were squeezing his throat, sitting on his chest. He met a green eyed gaze._

 _He blinked._

" _Who are you?"  
He didn't know._

* * *

 **A/N: Well don't you just love reviews of people telling you they hope your story fizzles out and lies forgotten because you cater to everyone else's wishes instead of coming up with your own ideas? Also, apparently I'm too wordy and concerned with metaphors?  
1) Only wishes I cater to are the ones that have no significant impact in my story whatsoever so why not cater to them?**

 **2) Last time I checked were all here to read fanfiction and as such should encourage each other to succeed, not fail? Don't like my story, don't read it, mate.**

 **3) I like metaphors but I'm not really thinking about them when I write. Yeah I'm too wordy at places but that's mostly on purpose. If the words are there there is a reason! I'm not just trying to be difficult. There's a point. Maybe think on that?**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing anyway though. Opinions are . . . great, I guess.**

 **Thanks to everyone else that's read and reviewed. I hope you liked this chapter. If you can't tell, we are almost at the end of Book One!**

 **Please review.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Climbing out of bed that morning, Louis groaned in pain. His bones hurt. However, that thought barely graced his mind before he found himself swaying and falling onto the floor. The whole world was tipping, bleeding together in a blur of colors and sounds. Bile rose in his throat, or maybe it was just the illusion of it, either way he fought it down and struggled to breathe. Today was not going to be a good day.

Louis knew what this was, had been fighting it for months, years really, but it had been a long time since it had been this bad. The last time he had an episode like these past few months had been at the Dursley's and even with the orphanages tiny rations he had never been so starved to have such a reaction as he did now.

It had gotten out of control. He knew what some of the others thought of him. Just last week he had heard a group of fourth year girls sighing over his figure and Anna Lewis whispering sharply to her best friend the dreaded words of _an eating disorder_. He saw the worried glances his professors would occasionally throw at him, why even Professor Snape had been looking at him sharply during their potions lessons when he thought no one was looking. Professor Flitwick, and even McGonagall, had started to say something only to be politely cut off by him. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to acknowledge it. He knew his friends had noticed, and not just because of the shy question from Tonks or the pointed looks from Hermione at lunch, but because of the way Draco would slip pieces of candy into his bag during Transfiguration, right in front of an "oblivious" McGonagall, and the way Neville would grasp his shoulder silently when he stumbled, not even saying a word to acknowledge what they all knew. The point was though was that none of them, not his friends, peers, or professors, seemed inclined to actually do something, to point blank force him to get better. They thought he could handle it and while he would normally agree, today he knew better.

Today was a bad day and on bad days he was horribly honest with himself. Brushing his teeth with a slightly shaky hand, Louis peered into his own eyes and thought about how horrible it had gotten.

When he was younger, the Dursley's had often used food based punishments. He cooked meals for them daily and was often denied even half a slice of uncooked bread. He would go to bed many nights with an empty stomach, pains shooting up his chest, festering in his core with a small whine. Eventually, he had learned how to ignore it, how to curve it. Water helped, as did the gum he would sometimes find and steal from desks and tabletops. When they had "lost" him in Paris and been brought to the orphanage, he had learned how to eat better. Sure their meals were small and sometimes nonexistence but he still ate more frequently and more of than he had before. He had learned how to steal properly for the younger children so they could eat on those bad days and when things had gotten really bad he had learned how to ignore those pangs once more, folding back into older habits, and this had had the unfortunate side effect of him eating less, even when the food was there. He could handle the sacrifices, the others could not. He didn't want them to. When Shira had entered his life he had found a brief reprieve. She always made a point to buy him meals and it hadn't taken her long to discover his lack of appetite and problems with food. The meals got smaller at first, full of nutrients, and when she recognized his growing stomach, she had upped the size, but not by much for he still couldn't do it, even after all these years. Her visits were rare after all and that wasn't enough of a change in time to suddenly make him healthy. When he had first received his Hogwarts letter he had briefly thought that he could use the time to increase his calories and food intake but that hadn't quite worked out. The meals were hearty and large and not a single person around him ate as little as he did, not even closer. He had felt uncomfortable, watching the way they would eye him weirdly, as if there was something biologically wrong with him, as if he weren't like them. He had ended up skipping meals altogether, showing up only about twice a week to breakfast and lunch. He always went to dinner though, awkwardly moving his food around on a plate, smooshing it together and hiding it in napkins to make it look like he was eating so he could hide from their judgemental gazes. Still, he knew some of his fellow Ravenclaws were watching close enough to know it was just a facade. He never looked up to know who though. He was sure he could guess.

It's not like he didn't want to eat though, not really. He wasn't purposely not eating he just couldn't bring himself to do so. He wasn't not eating due to a fear of being fat, like Anna lewis thought. He didn't _have_ an eating disorder. Not in the traditional sense anyway. If he had to label it he would just call it a side effect of his upbringing and a lack of appetite. He was sure this was something else, and not something as simple as an eating disorder. He wasn't scared of his weight. Really he wasn't.

Grabbing a tight hold onto the cup he kept in his bathroom, Louis filled it to the brim with water from the pipe and drank it quickly, like a thirsty man in the desert. His stomach twinged a bit in protest but he ignored it, filling the cup up again and drinking that just as quickly too. A sharp gasp of pain dug behind his eyes and he closed them tightly, waiting for it to bypass, before he opened them again and left the small room, grabbing his bag and exiting, throwing a brief goodbye to the sleeping Natasha and Sanguini.

He made his way towards the Great Hall slowly, breathing somewhat harshly through his nose, and adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, trying to shift its weight around. It was really heavy and dragging him down.  
"Hey, Louis." A friendly voice said from behind him, just over his right shoulder, and he jumped slightly, turning his head to stare with wide, panicked eyes at the greeter.

Cho sidled up next to him and flashed a nice, sweet smile. "Haven't talked to you in awhile. You missed the last discussion Friday. We missed your inputs." She was polite with her words but he could hear the genuinity in them and smiled in both thanks and apology.

"I've just been really tired and busy lately." He explained simply, closing his eyes as a bat of dizziness hit him once more, though not as harsh as the one this morning.

He felt Cho's hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Louis?" Her voice said, the words coming out slow and muffled to him.

He opened his mouth to reply, digging his hands into the places above his eyes. "Yeah, I just-"

He didn't get to answer though for he found his body tipping, dropping, sliding, the ground coming up to meet his face and he could hear the sound of something drop, hitting the ground, and Cho's surprised gasp as darkness edged his vision.

The last thought he had before everything disappeared was _Shit_.

* * *

" _What's this one do?" The little voice asked, pointing to chess piece in front of him._

 _The older man looked to what he was pointing at before giving a shrug, smiling guiltily. "Want to know a secret, kid?"  
He nodded quickly, excited at the idea of having a secret to carry around. One that wasn't his own that is._

" _I don't even know how to play chess. I just move the pieces around and apologize when someone yells that I can't do that." The man whispered, chuckling lightly._

 _Harry's lips twitched into a smile. Adults were weird. Nonetheless, he liked that Mr. Chaplin was just as clueless as he was about things. Especially chess._

* * *

 _He pushed the book towards the woman, struggling to slide the heavy tomb across the counter. He heard her laugh._

" _Tolstoy? Aren't you a bit young for this, lad? Wouldn't you prefer Dr. Suess? Maybe Carroll?" The librarian asked, peering at him with raised eyebrows, amused at the idea of such a little boy reading those pages, much less understanding them._

 _He stared at her, leveling her with an unamused gaze. "I want that book, please." He said flatly, not even bothering to argue with him._

 _She frowned at him, fingering the corner of the book. "Don't you think-"  
_ " _Margaret." A voice said from behind the woman and an older woman with a warm, red sweater stepped forward. "Give him his book."  
The counter lady, Margaret, looked between the two of them before mumbling an okay. As she checked the book out to him, he looked at the elderly woman and smiled when she winked at him, grinning. He winked back._

* * *

 _Fingers carded through his hair, nails digging gently into his scalp, scratching it lightly. He purred and nuzzled towards them, eyes closed as he turned his head in their lap._

 _He was lying on something soft, probably a sofa if he had to guess, with his head in someone's lap. They were extremely warm. A soft laugh sounded from above him._

" _I know you're awake, Harry."_

 _He groaned and shifted closer, head pressing into their stomach. They were so warm . . . ._

" _I don't want to wake up." He complained, nose twitching._

" _But you have to." The voice above him argued simply, tone neutral._

" _I don't want to leave you." He confessed in a whisper, turning onto his side to wrap his arms around their thigh, clinging tightly. He smelt the faint scent of something sweet._

" _I don't want you to either but you must leave. You don't belong here, Harry. You know that." The voice said brokenly, hand pausing in his hair before tugging on it gently and going back to carding through it._

" _I love you, Mum." He whispered back after a couple of minutes, eyes starting to sting with emotion._

 _He heard a watery sigh from above and another hand reached out to pull him closer to the body he was resting on. "I love you too, Harry. So much."_

 _He opened his eyes._

* * *

"-you a thing, Miss Chang." A worn voice said from somewhere to his left and Louis struggled to turn his head, feeling heavy and tired. However, all he saw was a sheet closed there, blocking his view but not his ears. Looking around, he found himself in a bed, tucked tightly in, with sheets enclosing him in, keeping eyes both out and in. He faintly heard someone, probably Cho if the voice was to be trusted, sigh in frustration before it replied.

"Can I at least wait in the hall for him? I just want to talk with him and make sure he's okay." Yep. Definitely Cho.

He heard the voice from before again. "Very well. You can wait outside and if Mr. Thompson is agreeable, you may speak to him once I am done, but only if he wants, Miss Chang."  
"Yes ma'am. Thank you." Cho said gratefully. He could hear the sounds of her footsteps as she walked out and the sound of the door closing behind her.

The sheet surrounding his bed was suddenly yanked to the side and he looked up to meet the stern eyes of an older woman whom he knew to be Madam Pomfrey, the school mediwitch/nurse.

She tsked at him. "Well it's good to know you're alive and awake, Mr. Thompson. Gave your friend and I quite the scare."  
He bowed his head. "I'm sorry."  
She hmmed. "None of that now, what I want to know is why you haven't been eating? Your scans showed that you have next to nothing in your system and from the looks of it, this has been going on for quite a long time. Years, if I'm not mistaken."  
He remained silent but that didn't seemed to disturb her for she went on, almost as if his response, or rather lack of, was expected. "My scans have also uncovered past injuries, injuries that should have left scars and yet I found none of those. They are also along the lines of what we would find alongside children from physically abusive households. Tell me, Mr. Thompson, why would you have such injuries?"  
Her voice wasn't full of pity or sympathy, not even anger, either for the idea of the cause or at him, and while he appreciated this greatly, for he didn't want her pity, he continued to remain silent, keeping his gaze on his bedsheets. He heard her sigh and close a file that he assumed was open in her hands. _His file,_ his mind supplied.

"I'm going to assume that for the lack of scarring you have either found some very good scar cream and gotten rid of them or, more likely, applied a glamour. If the latter, I must congratulate you on such an advanced piece of magic for one your age. I have no legal right to remove the glamour, should it be there, however since I do not have enough of a probable cause. Your past injuries, after all, could be caused by a number of things besides abuse, however much I doubt it, and your current injuries are mostly internal and I cannot see those anyway. External views would only be for my own sake. We can record your actual weight easily enough, as a glamour wouldn't affect that, as well as anything internal with just a wave of my wand, so whatever you are hiding is safe for now, Mr. Thompson."  
He still said nothing.

She sighed again and he could feel the bed shift as her weight was added onto it, the woman sitting by his knees. He flinched when a hand clasped his own, giving it a squeeze.

"I know you don't want to tell anyone how you got those injuries, Louis. I know that you're scared and that fear is crushing your lungs right now, making it hard to breathe and that a part of you wants to open up, to confess your secrets, and I also know that right now, your mind is blank and silent, silent screams hissing at the edges, and you're not sure what to do other than to deny anything, as that's all you've ever done. Nonetheless, I shall tell you that I am here should you want to tell me anything, even when I know that you won't, and even though you and I both know these are past injuries and most likely won't happen again, they still hold an effect. We can get whoever did that to you to pay, Louis, but you have to tell someone for that to happen." She paused, hoping he would speak up here, would tell her everything she wanted to know, but she was right. They both knew he wouldn;t say a damn thing. Not now, at least. She squeezed his hand again. "That's okay. I know. At the very least, if there's anything I can do for you from a medical standpoint, just write it down and I'll help with what I can and know that my door is open should you ever need it. I have tea every Sunday at 6 if you're interested."  
She got up then and left, flashing him a look he was sure as she disappeared behind the sheets once more. He kept his gaze on the blankets, knowing she'd be back in a minute. A numbness had settled over him and he suddenly felt extremely exhausted. A sadness enveloped him and he wanted to curl beneath his blankets and hide forever, to sleep until he woke up from this dream, this nightmare. Madam Pomfrey might not be telling anyone but he knew that she knew. How could she not? But he also knew that it was over. The Dursley's had been years ago and there was nothing to do now. He wasn't _being_ abused, there was nothing really to do but move on. She knew that and maybe . . . maybe she could help him with that. Not officially as he wasn't ready to tell her anything about the Dursley's, even if he did substitute names to protect his identity. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready to tell someone anything about them. His nights were haunted enough with their faces and hands. Why bring them out during the day too? He just wanted to forget. He lifted his eyes up and caught sight of a piece of parchment and a self-inked quill on the nightstand next to his bed. Just because he couldn't talk about it didn't mean he couldn't get help for it though.

Madam Pomfrey returned many minutes later with a tray of potions. She handed them to him one at a time, explaining as he drunk them what they were.

"You are to come see me before every meal and before bed to take your potions. The first one is a nutrient potion and only needs to be taken once, preferably in the morning before breakfast. It'll help your body get stronger in ways that it's been missing due to your lack of nutrition. This next one is basically a calcium supplement. It'll strengthen your bones and also only needs to be taken once a day. We'll give you this at lunch. Next is a potion for your muscles and organs. You're body is incredibly weak, not as much as would be expected but enough to cause worry, and you'll take it before bed so it can work while you sleep. The same can be said for the this next potion, which is to strengthen your immune system. Our final one here is a stomach balancer, you'll need it for every meal as it'll help you eat and keep it down. It decreases your chances of vomiting, easing nausea. We're taking them all now as it's best to start as soon as possible but I want you to start seeing me at the appropriate times starting today. Later I'll be giving you a dreamless sleep potion to help you sleep. You'll get that one every two days as I don't want you to become addicted. We'll keep you on a strict routine for all of these, decreasing your intakes when ready. I also have a meal plan for you to follow." She passed him a rolled up piece of parchment for him to look at. "I have it divided up into days for now. We'll adjust it when I think you can handle more. For now, though, we need to start out small. I want you to eat four small meals a day. Breakfast, lunch, a snack, and dinner. I've written out suggested meals and sizes for you to begin with as you can see. Once your stomach can handle these portions we'll build up your intake to make it five small meals, then one big meal and four small, then two and one small with one snack, then two, then three large meals and one small snack, then two. That'll take a while though. We'll have to make a big schedule for summer time but we should be fine. Do you have any summer plans yet that we'll need to work with or should I just send your guardian a meal plan to follow?"  
He swallowed thickly. "Um no, my summer is . . . complicated. I'll take the plans and follow them. Though." He promised. Madam Pomfrey eyed him sharply, testing his honesty, before nodding.

"Very well. That's all I have to say. You're professors have been notified that you will not be attending classes for the next two days, as you are currently here sick, and before you ask I have not informed them that it is related to your weight. Patient confidentiality. They have no reason to know the specifics, nor does the Headmaster, as I will be here to monitor your meals, making sure you follow them." He was all to aware that the woman ate in the Great Hall with the students and professors for every meal. She would most definitely be watching him. "Another thing, you will be required to be weighed weekly as I want to monitor your progress. We'll do this every Thursday, since we're starting on one. Any questions?" He shook his head, clutching the parchment in his hand tightly. "Very well. Now, Miss Chang was the one who brought you in when you collapsed in the hall, and as such, is quite concerned. She's waiting in the hall and would like to see you. Do you want me to fetch her?" Knowing he would have to confront the girl sooner than later, he nodded, wanting to get it over with.

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head sharply and ducked behind the curtains once more. He could hear her shoes clapping against the floor as she approached the Hospital Wing doors, opening them to talk to Cho and let her in. Sure enough, a minute later, Cho shyly shifted the curtains aside and smiled at him, sitting herself down right where Madam Pomfrey had sat not that long ago. He fought the urge to look down and returned her gaze, staring into her dark eyes.

Cho shifted around awkwardly before speaking after a moment a tense silence. "How are you?"  
He swallowed thickly. "Fine."  
Cho nodded numbly, eyes falling to stare at nothing. She kept nodding her head slowly and upon noticing this, stopped, instead shifting to pick at her nails. He watched her swallow, adam's apple bobbing as she did so. He oddly noted on that, for it was a misconception that women didn't have one. They did. It just wasn't as obvious or large. Laryngeal prominence, his mind supplied flatly.

She suddenly jerked, body shifting to face him on squarely as she sniffed roughly. Tears sparked at her eyes and he was both confused and oddly warm at the sight of them.

"Gosh, Louis, do you have _any_ idea how terrified I was?" He remained silent. He didn't think she wanted an answer. "I mean, you j-just fell! With no warning! Your nose was bleeding and it was everywhere . . . it just wouldn't stop and you wouldn't wake up . . . _God,_ Louis, I thought you were dead!" She was staring at him, face angry and sad at the same time. He felt as if he could see a ghost of that terror now, staring at him in the face as if he were a ghost, a haunted memory. Maybe she had hoped it was all a dream. He surely did.

"I thought you were dead." She whispered this again, chewing on her bottom lip.

He swallowed again. His throat was very dry and chest tight. He couldn't really breathe. An intense wave of guilt wrapped around him. "I'm sorry." He whispered back. Cho just shook her head.

"What happened?"

He pondered for a moment not telling her, giving her a bit of the truth but not the whole, never the whole, but he felt as if he ought to tell her at least, as if he owed her. Besides, this whole process would be easier on him, for him, if he had someone to help him along the way. He liked Cho enough to trust her anyway. The older girl had been very kind to him when he had first arrived at Hogwarts, insisting he sat with her at meals and drawing him into conversations in the Common Room. She had even brought him little things throughout the year, a blanket here, a cookie there. Yes, he could trust Cho with this.

"I-I've been having some problems . . . with eating. Not intentional ones, mind you. It's . . . it's not like that. I just . . . haven't been eating like I should. Haven't for a long time and it's just . . . just caught up with me now."  
Cho nodded, as if this revelation wasn't a surprise to her at all, and perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps she had heard the other children talking like he had or maybe it was just her own observations. She had definitely noticed, as she had talked to him before about his meal times, but still. He had expected some kind of reaction.

"Are you going to be getting better now?" She asked and he knew she was asking about more than just him eating habits. They both knew this was more than that.

He nodded. "Madam Pomfrey's started me on a potion regimen and I have a meal plan to follow with it." His words came out slow, as if he were having difficulty saying them. He wasn't sure how true that was.

Cho bit her lips again. "Good. I'll cover for you when you go to get your potions. Don't worry about that. I'll figure out good excuses."  
He felt his throat tighten again and nodded gratefully. "Thank you." He said them so softly that he wasn't sure she had heard them, wasn't sure if he had even said them, but Cho nodded so he assumed so.

"Did you tell anyone? About what happened?" He asked, needing to know the answer. He couldn't have the others knowing. Just having her and Madam Pomfrey here, knowing just one of his secrets, was enough to cause him worry and panic.

Cho shook her head and he almost sighed in relief aloud. "The hall was empty when you fell, save us of course, and no one saw me bringing you to the Hospital Wing. I made sure of it. Hermione asked me if I had seen you at lunch but I told her that you were sick and shouldn't be disturbed. She probably thinks you're in your room, as do your other friends, no doubt."  
He closed his eyes. "Thank you for that. Really."  
A hand grasped his own, fingers linking through his, and squeezed it tightly. "It's no problem. It can be our little secret."  
He breathed through his nose. "Our secret."

* * *

Following Madam Pomfrey's instructions, Louis soon began to gain some weight. He still wasn't eating as much as his peers, not even close, but that was expected. Still, he was eating much more than he had been before. A single meal was more than before though so it wasn't that drastic of a change. He knew this was going to be a long road and was prepared for that. He was still throwing up some of his meals, even with the potions to help the nausea, but more was staying than before so he wasn't that concerned. He was just taking it a day, a meal, at a time.

Cho had been a blessing through the whole ordeal. His morning potions were easy, for all he had to do was wake up a little earlier to head on down to the Hospital Wing and arrive to breakfast at his usual time. Lunch was a little harder, as he had to escape his friends, but he had just told them that he wanted to check up on Natasha, that she hadn't been feeling so well herself lately. For now, this was working, but he knew it wouldn't last long. He had only been on the potions a week though, so he figured he could use it for another day or two before switching excuses. Dinner and before bed were the hardest, as Hermione was usually hovering around those times and the others were usually there before dinner too for study group. He made a point to excuse himself about an hour before he had to see the mediwitch, claiming to want some personal, quiet time, that way no one would come looking for him and he could slip away easily enough. Before bed, though, was a bit harder and was when Cho would pop up, telling the prefects that she and Louis were going to Flitwick and would thus have either a note or the professor himself ready to forestall any complications, keeping them all out of trouble, or she would find an excuse to drag him from the Common Room or Neville, claiming to need his help for something or another.

Cho had also started mothering him. The girl made a point to sit by him at breakfast's, dragging him into the seat by her and Roger, who she always ate breakfast with. Sometimes Marietta or Hermione were there, but Hermione usually ate with Padma and Lisa at meals, and sometimes Pansy, who was still most comfortable with Padma and a little reserved towards everyone else, and Marietta was often either asleep or getting ready still or was eating with her boyfriend, Jacobs. Cho would make his plate every morning, not even bothering to listen to his protests or Roger's smug teasing. She would do practically the same thing at dinner's, much to his chagrin. Luckily he got a reprieve at lunches, for he would sit at the Gryffindor table with the others, but that soon ended when Draco took the job over himself, not even questioning the wide stares and crooked smirks around him. Honestly, he was surrounded by nut cases. Outside of classes, Cho would find a reason to wrap a blanket around his shoulder in the Common Room, despite the fact he always sat by the fire, and Cho was always, without fail, the one to provide him his Madam Pomfrey approved snacks, slipping them into little bags in his own bag or casually handing him one in the middle of a conversation, whether or not she was apart of said conversation or not. For the most part, Louis couldn't bring himself to be annoyed and was honestly quite comforted by her actions. She would probably calm down after another week or so anyway, once the sight of him pale and bloody on the ground got out of her head, he was sure.

During the past week, his friend's reactions to the whole ordeal were pretty mild. Upon noticing his now no longer empty plate or mushed up mountains of uneaten food, they had merely looked at him for a second before turning away, as if they were not aware of the implications. He was grateful for this. He didn't want them to register the elephant in the room. If Tonks and Hermione were a bit more fretful or Draco a bit more possessive, than no one said a word. Even the twins, with their often joking ways, didn't say a thing. While they weren't the ones to be blatantly pushing him through this, he felt comforted by their presence and felt as if those quiet moments at meals, when they would all look at him and him them, were the moments he realized they were truly there for him.

Meanwhile, when he had returned from the Hospital Wing from his "sickness", he had been notified of their upcoming detention for that weekend. Apparently, they would all be spending a few hours in the night with Hagrid out in the Forbidden Forest. At first, Louis had laughed, only to be looked at and told they were serious. After that, Louis had contemplated how sane this school really was. First they harbored an extremely attractive and thu dangerous important magical artifact in a school, then they decided to send students into a forest that was rumored to have rabid magical creatures and other deadly things at night. He would be surprised if he survived the first year.

On another note, he had yet to receive a reply from either Remus Lupin or Sirius Black. Lupin, he was sure, was still contemplating what to do or was maybe deciding how to respond in the most polite of ways possible. Black, whom he had made sure to send a self inking quill (just in case the man didn't know of pens) and some parchment to reply with, was probably trying to figure out if someone was tricking him, if he should trust the sender. In the end, Louis wasn't surprised by their lack of speed and continued to patiently wait. As for the letter the group had sent to the Flamel's, they were still waiting for a reply on that one as well. This one was a bit more discerning, as he couldn't imagine a blatant specific reason, but nonetheless, Louis kept calm and waited with the others.

And so, with nothing to do on this Friday evening, Louis found himself with his friends, save a NEWT studying Tonks, back at the lake. Fred and George were leaning against the tree trunk, George with his head tipped back too and eyes closed peacefully and Fred with an open journal in his lap. Neville lay on his stomach by them with Hermione sitting criss crossed next to the boy. Neville was fiddling with a smooth edged rock and Hermione was reading a book that he couldn't see the title of. Draco sat in a manner similar to Hermione, though with no book for he was carding his hands through Louis's hair for Louis had his head rested in the blonde's lap.

"So what are you guys doing for summer vacation? School's almost out. Less than two months left now." It was true. They were already into April.

Hermione's eyes lifted from her book. "I'll probably be going somewhere with my parents. They like to do family vacations whenever we can and I imagine they'll be especially excited this year since I've been away so long."  
"Gran and I usually go to the States during the summer, spend about a whole month there with one of her old friends from Hogwarts. America has pretty good Herbology programs over there," said Neville, adding the last part in a fevered whisper. The Hufflepuff would no doubt try to get him grandmother to enlist him into a summer program for children. Louis hoped he got in.

"We'll probably just mess around at home." Shrugged Fred, picking at his paper.

"Maybe Bill or Charlie will head on down?" George commented lowly. Fred snorted.

"Doubt it. They moved so far away for a reason. When's the last time they came for a visit?" George didn't answer.

Everyone, save Louis, shifted their eyes around awkwardly. Hermione cleared her throat.

"What about you, Draco?"  
Louis felt the hand still momentarily in his hair before it continued at a slower, more hesitant pace. "I'm . . . uh . . .not too sure about what I'll be doing this summer."  
Nails dug into his scalp a little roughly. Hermione continued, oblivious of the danger ahead of them. "Well what do you guys normally do?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis saw Neville glance warily over at Hermione. Draco breathed roughly through his nose. "I imagine Mother and Father will still be going over to France. It's their favorite time of year to go."  
Louis noted the lack of the boy's own inclusion in that visit and felt his heart ache a little. Hermione seemed to note it as well, but not the reasoning for it. "What about you? Won't you be joining them?"  
"I seriously doubt it, Hermione." Snipped Draco. He was nearing his patience of such a sensitive subject.

"Well why not?"  
"Because I was sorted into Gryffindor, okay?!" Draco snapped, his hand carding faster through Louis's hair and nails gripping it roughly, as he glared at the girl. "I'm the _freak_ of my family, Hermione! No one, and I do mean _no one_ , has ever been sorted into Gryffindor in the Malfoy line. Ravenclaw sure, a Hufflepuff a few times, but _never_ Gryffindor. You don't know what it's like. You're a muggleborn, your parents are just proud that you're here. There's no pressure to tradition."  
Hermione had flinched back at Draco's admission, her hands gripping her closed book tightly to her side and eyes wide. Neville cleared his throat thickly.

"He's right you know. Pureblood lines tend to stick within the same houses. They think it's because of family magic and raising your children in similar manners to your own childhood, essentially breeding a copy, over and over again. Gran told me in no uncertain terms to get into Gryffindor. Fortunately for me, Hufflepuff is close enough for her."

"Weasley's are always Gryffindor's. Always." Fred muttered.

"I've never even heard of one that wasn't." George sighed.

"My parents hate me." whispered Draco brokenly. "Father hasn't talked to me at all. Mother only set me the "we're disappointed in you" letter after the Sorting. Even then I bet a house elf wrote it for her. Malfoy crest and all. I wasn't even allowed over for Christmas. Spent the whole break with Tonks. I'm just waiting for the letter from Gringotts that says I've been disowned."  
"My parents aren't as pleased as you would all think. They're muggles and while a part of them is happy for me, they mostly just don't understand. They'll say things without meaning to that are insulting. I can't tell you how many times before and during Christmas they asked me if I was sure I wanted to learn magic, if I didn't want to go to a _normal_ school. Normal. As if there was something wrong with me. They love me, I know that. It's just . . . . They just . . . they don't understand who, _what_ , I am anymore and I'm afraid they never will." Hermione confessed, tears staining her cheeks as she talked. George reached over and grasped her hand. She smiled thankfully at him.

"Our parents don't really understand us either." Fred said flatly, staring blankly down at the grass. He had pulled his knees toward his chest. "They get the detention notice slips and the report cards and just assume that all we are are troublemakers."  
"They think we're stupid. That were not living up to our potential." George scoffed.

"Dad tries. He'll sit us down and just talk but Mom . . . "  
"She yells." supplied George bittingly. "All she ever does is yell about you foolish we're being, how we need to grow up and do something productive, something real with our lives."  
"They love us. There's no question to that. But they don't agree with our dreams and somehow that hurts more."  
"All my Gran wants is for me to be like my dad. She misses him so much . . . and I get that I do. I may never have known him like she did but I still miss him and I'm sorry that she misses him as much as she does, that she has to live with happier memories, but . . . I'll never be him. I'll never be as strong or as smart as he was. I'm just Neville. Just Neville."  
"Well I happen to like "just Neville". He's one of the best people I've ever met, heart of gold really. You couldn't ask for a nicer, more sincere guy." Louis broke in, tired of hearing the depressing mutterings of his friends. They needed to know that someone believed and cared for them exactly as they were. He sat up to be able to stare at all of them. "And Fred and George? Screw what your parents think. You're the best pranksters to walk these halls and one day, you'll make sure to supply the world with best pranksters it can have. You live your dream, because it's all you've got and it's pretty damn powerful. Hermione? You're the brightest witch of our age, kicking all sorts of ass, and who cares if you're not what your parents, or even you, thought you were going to be? You'll be better. And who cares if you're not normal? I, for one, find normal to be quite boring." He turned to face Draco. "Fuck your parents Draco. Fuck them. If they can't see that you're one of the most protective and caring and loyal people around than that's their lost. You don't need them. They're just prejudice assholes anyway. You guys are the best people I know, the very best, and it doesn't matter what anyone else says, even your parents, because I'm never going to stop believing in that. Ever."  
And they all traded shaky, watery smiles and tired eyes and if a hug or two was passed around or comforting words than no one said a thing because right there, surrounded by the people that mattered, they were on top of the world. On top of it, and loving it.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow. Okay. So the whole "summer" conversation was not supposed to go or even end this way but I'm glad it did. That was kind of emotional for me haha. Wow. Don't even know where it came from.**

 **This was kind of a filler chapter, dealing with Harry/Louis and is eating habits and the others and what they were dealing with a little. Cho made an appearance, whoo! She was actually supposed to have a bigger part in this story but that didn't happen. Maybe next story she will. Who knows. Not me. We'll see.**

 **On another note, this story is almost over! About two or three more chapters. With that in mind, would you guys like to start the next story immediately after the end of this one, around the end of July, or a little before second year starts? I haven't decided yet so I figured I'd get your inputs.**

 **Please review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

When they first arrived in the Entrance Hall, they being Louis and Neville, the twins and Tonks were already there with Filch, who was holding onto a boxed in oil lamp and scowling at them all.

While Filch started muttering about how he wished the good ole days were still here with his capital punishments and when his torture fetish was acceptable, the five students grouped together and ignored him.

"Fine night we're having isn't it?" Greeted Fred cheerfully, linking his arm with Neville as soon as they were close enough. Neville stared at him, bewildered, but shrugged it off with no protest. Tonks smirked in amusement and hit her shoulder against Louis's.

"Well I'll say. You can practically smell the scent of our mangled bodies from here!"  
"Why, I think I can taste hmm . . . what is it now . . . ah yes! The tears of lost souls and forgotten children!"

"But that sound? What was that?" Gasped George.  
"Oh that was just the sound of skulls being crushed by giant feet." Fred waved offhandedly. Neville turned to stare at him, horrified.  
Louis shook his head. "No no no. It's definitely the sound of all of our dreams dying, as with our bodies."  
"Shut it!" Filch snarled, tired of their cynical ramblings once he realized they weren't listening to him. Honestly, Louis kind of felt bad for the guy. All he wanted were chains.

The twins and Louis all exchanged smirks while Tonks bit her lips, suppressing a laugh. Neville looked down at the ground and growled.

"I hate you guys."

"You'll return my love one day, Longbottom." Fred declared, looking wistfully up at

the sky.

"I'll make sure he sends you flowers, Nev." Tonks said, patting the boy on the shoulder, grinning.

Neville glared at her. "I hope you all die alone." He said, voice empty.

"That's the spirit!" Cheered George happily.

When they made it up to Hagrid's hut, Filch halted them.

"Abou' time," Hagrid said by way of greeting. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already."  
Filch ignored him and gestured with his thumb back to them. "I'll be back at dawn for what's left of them." He turned his head around to toss them a nasty glare. Fred waved excitedly at him while Tonks stuck her tongue out, changing it to a bright, neon green. Filch scowled darkly at them and left.

"Such a happy guy." Louis remarked brightly.

"Isn't he just?" George smiled.

"'M sorry you all got in ter trouble over me." Hagrid apologized, looking a bit down. Louis knew the man must be feeling pretty guilty. Nonetheless, he waved him off.

"Think nothing of it, Hagrid. We'd have done it for any of our friends, consequences be damned."  
Hagrid gave him a look for cursing but nodded anyway. "Still. Ye all wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for me."  
"Oi. Hagrid. Stop blaming yourself and take us into the forest to hunt for treasure already." George complained loudly, but not unkindly.

"Yeah Hagrid I want to try and catch myself a werewolf."  
Hagrid scoffed. "We'll be having none of that. 'Sides, we'll be goin' in to find a unicorn, not treasure. Somethin's been attackin' the creatures inside, makin' all sorts of messes. There've been two unicorn attacks in just this last week. That's what yeh all here for. There's a unicorn out there, torn up pretty bad. Blood all over the place. You'll see some of it up ahead now. It'd be best if we split up now, some of yeh can go that way with Fang and the others this way with me. Jus' in case there's trouble we can send up these here sparks yeh see." Hagrid nodded approvingly as the twins lit up some red sparks.

Fred jerked a thumb at George. "We can go with Fang, Hagrid."  
Hagrid eyed them warily, not sure if he could trust the two of them by themselves, not that Louis blamed him, but relented.

"Alrigh', just don' be doin' nothin' crazy, now, yeh here?" He said sternly.

Fred and George saluted him. "Aye, aye, captain!" And then they were off, Fang bounding along behind them.

"A-Are there really werewolves in the forest?" asked Neville, siding up behind Tonks nervously.

Hagrid scratched his chin. "Not that I know of. Mind yeh, there could always be summat like that that we jus' don' - GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"  
Hagrid shifted himself so that he was standing in front of them, pushing Tonks and Louis behind the tree, who bumped into Neville, who fell down on his rear with a shout.

Hagrid had ripped up his crossbow from his side and had it poised and ready. They all listened, hanging in tense silence, and Louis could hear the sound of something slithering over dead leaves nearby, like a cloak trailing along the ground or a large snake. After a few seconds though, it faded away into nothingness. Whatever it was, was gone.

Hagrid squinted. "I knew it. There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Tonks suggested, eyes wide with excitement at the prospect.

Hagrid shook his head though. "That wasn' no werewolf an it wasn' no unicorn, neither." He squinted again. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

The group walked slower now, ears straining to listen for the faintest of sounds, maybe the slither would come back . . . . Suddenly, in a clearing up ahead, something large moved quite obviously.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself - I'm armed!"

They all leaned forward in anticipation when a centaur jutted out from the bushes and trees. He felt Tonks stiffen and saw Neville's eyes widen. He wasn't sure what he looked like.

Hagrid visibly relaxed and tucked the crossbow down back to his side. "Oh, it's you, Ronan." Hagrid, it seemed, knew this centaur. Louis was oddly impressed. "How are yeh?" He walked forward to shake his hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid." Ronan replied before eyeing the crossbow curiously. "Were you going to shoot me?"  
Hagrid shrugged apologetically. "Can't be too careful, Ronan." He patted his crossbow affectionately.

Ronan nodded, not looking at all insulted, and glanced up. "Mars is bright tonight." He said offhandedly. Hagrid stared at him for a second before nodding slowly, looking up at the sky where Ronan was.

"Er, yeah. Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt - you seen anythin'?"  
Ronan continued to stare unblinkingly at the sky though and sighed heavily. "Mars is bright tonight," he repeated. Hagrid shifted around impatiently. "Unusually bright."

Louis narrowed his eyes. He knew, as did many others, that centaurs believed deeply in astronomy and astrology, often having divination skills that far exceeded those of wizarding kind. For the centaur to be repeating a phrase, especially this one in particular, was quite worrisome in a way. Mars was, after all, the Roman God of war.

"So yeh haven' noticed anythin' strange?" Hagrid asked again.

Yet again, Ronan didn't answer immediately and when he did, all he said was "The forest holds many secrets."  
Thank you, Mr. Centaur.

There was movement in the trees behind Ronan once more but before Hagrid could raise his crossbow, another centaur appeared, this one more wild looking.

"Hullo, Bane" said Hagrid. "All right?"  
"Good evening, Hagrid. I hope you are well?"  
"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured - would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane didn't answer either though, just walked closer to stand next to Ronan and looked skyward. "Mars is bright tonight."  
Hagrid sighed. "Yeah. Thanks. We've heard.  
"Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, would yeh? We'll be off, then."

Louis and the others followed Hagrid as he walked off, deeper into the forest.

"Never try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon, the ruddy stargazers." The man grumbled grumpily to them.

"I didn't know Hogwarts had centaurs. Are there . . . many of them?" Tonks tipped her head at Neville's question.

"Oh, a fair few. Keep to themselves, mostly. They're good enough to show up if I ever want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs . . . they know things . . . jus' don' let on much."

They walked on through the dense, dark forest with Neville glancing around everywhere over his shoulder. Louis held himself stiffly, feeling as if they were being watched. He knew that was preposterous though. Right?  
They were passing a bend in the path when Tonks suddenly jerked her arm. "Hagrid! Red sparks! Fred and George are in trouble!" She pointed in the direction of the, sure enough, red sparks and Hagrid moved.

"You all wait here! Stay on the path, I'll be back for yeh!" He shouted and then he too was gone. They listened as he stumbled and broke through branches and bushes, crushing leaves, until they could hear nothing but the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. Tonks tightened her hold on his arm and Neville shifted closer to them. Louis reached out and grabbed the boy's hand. Neville gave him a grateful look, which Louis returned with a smile.

"Do you think they're okay?" Neville asked after a minute.

"I'm sure they're fine." Tonks responded kindly, not looking entirely convinced.

The minutes ticked by into silence. Louis felt as if he had advanced senses, what with the way everything suddenly seemed louder. He knew this was all just a trick of the mind, his nerves playing with him, but still. The wind wasn't supposed to sound like that anyway.

After a brief conversation, they decided to keep walking along the trail. They were chatting quietly when Louis saw something up ahead that made his stomach turn. He pulled at the others. "Look . . . "  
It was the unicorn and the creature was most definitely dead. It was beautifully sad. The creatures long, slender legs were sprawled out from under it, tucker tightly together but still stretched out far. Silver blood was pooling out from it's neck, pooling out onto the ground and spreading out into the leaves and treeline in a sticky pool where -

-where some hooded figure . . . creature was kneeling, drinking it.

What. The. Fuck. His mind stumbled right before Neville let out a scream of pure terror. Tonks's arms came up to wrap around his waist, her wand coming up to point directly at the creature. Louis noticed it shook quite frantically.

The creature, which had had it's back to them, spun around quickly and upon noticing them, stood up, facing them. It's hood covered most of it's face but Louis could see it's jaw, covered in the thick, silver blood that was dripping onto it's robe in large drops. It advanced closer and they moved as one, Tonks jerking Louis with her as Neville stumbled backwards, falling over a tree root that was jutting out of the oath, and Tonks stumbled upon his leg, losing her balance but not falling.

He couldn't move, eyes locked on the being. His scar, the one that he hid beneath pale, flat skin and rosy blushes, was aching, something his metamorphagus abilities could not mask for him. So many could look at him and see the pain but not see the source of it upon his being. He was on fire and brought a hand up to claw at his face in pain. He could hear hooves as the creature lifted its arm slowly and suddenly there was a giant, heaving thing in front of him, roaring and snarling, making the creature disappear into the trees.

It was a centaur. Not one he had seen before.

"Are you all alright?" said the centaur, helping Neville to his feet.

"Yes - thank you - we're . . . oh god . . . what was that?!" Tonks gasped out, eyes wide and chest heaving with quick breaths.

The centaur didn't get to answer her though for Neville had lunged forward and stumbled back onto the path out of sight. Louis could faintly hear the boy retching before it faded. Tonks excused herself.

Louis turned to face the centaur alone. Surprisingly, he had sapphire like blue eyes. Pale ones at that. He looked carefully at Louis.

"The forest is not safe. Especially for one like yourself."  
"I'm sorry?" He frowned, puzzled at this statement. What did the centaur mean?  
"The forest is full of secrets, young one, but yours is not one of them. The stars see everything and mars is, as you know, unusually bright tonight. Anything desperate enough to drink the blood of a unicorn will do that." They both knew the implications of drinking unicorn blood.  
"I don't -" he began but then Tonks came forward with her arm wrapped around Neville's shoulders, blonde hair bouncing.

"Sorry about that and thank you again, er, what's your name?"  
"I am Firenze, my lady." He said, bowing a little.

Tonks smiled crookedly, shyly, and opened her mouth to respond when another set of feet approached, these belonging to Hagrid and the twins.

"There ya three are! Firenze! Everything alright?" Hagrid asked.

Tonks shook her head, hair hitting her cheeks as she did so. "We found the unicorn, Hagrid." She pointed towards the creature behind Firenze. Hagrid turned and looked behind him and nodded sadly.

"Ah well,"

"You should take the children back to the castle, Hagrid. The forest is not safe." Firenze interrupted.

Hagrid cast a glance at Neville, who looked a bit pale and shaky. "Yeah . . . yeah, come on you all. I'll come get it in the mornin'."

Firenze nodded, "I wish you all good luck. The stars had been read wrongly before," He cast Louis a glance "and I hope now is one of those times."  
No one argued with Hagrid, following behind the man silently. Louis turned to look over his shoulder at Firenze, who was being approached by two more centaurs, the one's from before, Bane and Ronan, and as Firenze and Bane began to argue in quiet tones, gesturing towards the sky, Louis turned away and scratched at his unseen scar, willing the fire to be put out.

* * *

Later that night, or early that morning depending upon how you look at it, Louis stood in his bathroom, staring at the mirror.

He hadn't completely revealed himself as Harry yet, not sure if he wanted to see the boy today, but he had returned his eyes to the piercing green one's his mother had gifted him with. He sighed, brushing his blonde hair back with a sigh.

He was tired. Tired of lying. Firenze had mentioned secrets in the forest and while it was absurd, he knew the centaur knew that he wasn't really Louis Thompson. That he was Harry Potter in disguise. That was crazy though. There was no way he could know that and yet . . . . And yet Louis was sure he did.

How long had he carried this lie? Years. His whole entire life in France revolved around it. There, he was the scoundrel, the deviant, the little boy that stole and took and never returned, and yet he was also the hero. The boy that came bearing food, the helpful hand the Matron always needed. In France he was a lie, but he was an appreciated one in a way.

But he was still a lie. Would things be different if he was still Harry? If that was the face everyone saw instead of this one? Would things have been the same if he hadn't had lied, hadn't have had this gift? Would he still be friends with Draco and Tonks? Would he still prank in the shadows with the twins? Would he still study and scold the others with Hermione? Would he even be in Ravenclaw? For all he knew he could be in Slytherin and best friends with Ron Weasley. He scoffed at that. Ron would never befriend a Slytherin. Actually, that was probably a bit of a stretch, though not much of one. The boy _did_ dislike the Snakes and was quite prejudice but maybe not _that_ prejudice.

Now wasn't the time for a psychotic break or mental breakdown though so he pushed himself off from the sink and closed his eyes, willing his features to shift back into the original. Or well, as original as he was willing to be right now.

Opening his eyes, he looked past the normal things he would focus on for once and went straight to the scar. Half the time, Louis wouldn't even bring the scar out, not wanting to see the thing that symbolized both his end and his beginning, but today he had to, for it was the reason he was here.

The lightning bolt was inflamed and positively angry, jumping out of his skin in a fiery red dash. He ran his finger along it's edge, tracing it but not touching it. Even the skin around it was inflamed and somewhat painful.

He thought back to what the centaurs had been saying all night, to what Firenze specifically had been saying.

 _Mars is bright tonight._

 _Not safe . . . especially for you . . ._

His eyes latched onto the scar, hearing their words repeating over and over in his head, and he thought of that hooded creature in the forest, desperate enough to drink the blood of an innocent unicorn, and he thought of Quirrel and Snape and how the two had been talking . . . talking of loyalties and masters . . . . and he thought of all the worries they would have, of why they would risk a school over a Stone, just a simple stone . . . why . . . .

And he knew. Louis knew that this was so much bigger than they all thought it was.

* * *

For the next few weeks, time passed quickly. Classes continued and the days got warmer. Spirits were both lifted and stressed with the end of the year coming up and everyone was feeling it.

"I can't believe it's almost time for graduation." Tonks said one day they were outside, staring up at the sky from her place on the grass. She was sprawled on her back, hand in her light brown hair, and had her knee bent upward. Everyone else was in a similar manner, each on their back looking skyward. Hermione was beside Neville, who was beside Tonks, and Fred and George graced Tonks's other side. Draco was next to Hermione whereas Louis layed next to George. They were all in a circle, heads together.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked.

Tonks hummed. "I think . . . I think I'm going to apply to the Auror Academy."

Fred whistled.

"That's a pretty tough gig. Do you have the scores for it?" said George. Tonks hummed in the affirmative.

"Yeah. Just gotta pass my NEWTS and I'll be set."  
Neville gestured to a cloud and labeled it as a monkey before asking Tonks when the applications were due for the academy.

"Last day of July. The Academy doesn't start until like October, late September."  
"What are you going to do until then?" Piped up Draco. "Hardly anything is known about what they do in the Academy, trade secrets and all that, so it's not like you can really prepare."  
"I don't know," Tonks grinned. "Maybe I'll come visit Lou here in France."  
"Please don't." He murmured. The last thing he needed was Tonks to see his living conditions. She'd probably attempt to adopt him and then curse someone when she was denied.

"Yeah Tonks, he sees enough of your ugly mug here." Fred sniped. Tonks kicked him and slapped him in retaliation.

"Shut it, you. What are you doing this summer anyway, Louis? You never said."

He closed his eyes, unsure of what he should say. The truth was, even he didn't know what he was doing. Louis knew that with his future responsibilities as Lord Potter he was going to have to delve into the family and the political scene, and soon at that. He'd have to visit Potter Manor but he didn't want to tell them that, plus he wasn't sure he'd do that this summer anyway. He had until he was fifteen to get that stuff together. Plus, he didn't have a way of getting there, wherever there was. He didn't want to stay at the orphanage either though. The Matron might notice his sudden lack of appearance though. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. But Natasha and Sanguini weren't going to be welcomed there. Sanguini because he had grown and could no longer be easily hidden and Natasha because . . . well, she was a tiger. He had done some research to find ways to conceal their sizes and Natasha's fur pattern but he didn't want to have his friends wearing runed collars and chains all the time. That wasn't how he wanted them to live, even if it was only for two and a half months. He had so much to do . . . . Maybe he could work on emancipation? It's not like there would be anyone there to argue. He could move into the Manor and work from there . . .

"Louis?" Someone asked. He flinched, startled out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, er, I, um, don't really know what I'm doing for the summer. Probably just head back and sulk."  
"Hey!" Fred exclaimed suddenly in the brief silence that had settled upon the group after Louis's answer. "Maybe you guys can visit the Burrow!"  
"The Burrow?" Draco asked, brow raised.

"Where we live." Supplied George. "And we should so ask Mum. She'd be thrilled to have you guys over. The woman loves to mother. She'd have a field day with you, Louis."  
"Hey!" The others laughed at him.

"Bet she'd insist he'd get right off the train and into her arms too." Snarked Fred, snickering. George nodded vigorously.

"Not if my mum gets him first." Tonks piped up. "She's already insisting Draco come home with me. Hey, maybe you guys could come visit me too."  
They all nodded, starting side conversations about their summer and plans they could make together and Louis smiled. Maybe this summer wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

* * *

Unfortunately, it wasn't summertime yet.

"Say that again." Hermione said weakly, digging her nails into her knees.

"I think Voldemort is trying to get the Stone."

"Say it again." Neville this time.

Louis sighed. "I think Voldemort is trying to get the Stone."  
"One more time." Tonks said.

"No! You heard me the first fifty times!"  
Fred shifted. "Why exactly do you think-"

"-that You-Know-Who, of all people, is after the Stone?"  
"Makes sense doesn't it? Quirrel stuttering about masters, Snape whispering in his ears about his loyalties, that strange thing in forest drinking unicorn blood . . . . Voldemort was called by his followers both the Dark Lord and master, thus we have Quirrel. Then there's Snape, a reported follower of Voldemort's, whether as a spy or not who knows but he has the Mark to prove his servitude nonetheless and I doubt you got that by just signing up. Then there's the unicorn. Drinking unicorn blood is like sealing your life for the biggest curse of all time. You'd have to be really desperate and close to death to do that and doesn't that describe Voldemort perfectly? He was reported to have either died or been so tragically weakened by Harry Potter that Halloween night that he fled. If anyone was desperate enough to drink it it's him. And before you dismiss me, yet again, I talked to Hagrid about his dragon egg and the fella that gave it to him. Hagrid said the guy never showed his face, just wore a hood, and apparently he was oddly fascinated by our favorite cerberus, even got Hagrid to tell him how to put the thing to sleep. You think it's coincidence that some guy just so happens to have a dragon egg the same night Hagrid, who wanted a dragon more than anything, was there to get drunk and play poker?" He shook his head.

"Look. Maybe it isn't Voldemort. Maybe it's Snape, or hell maybe it's Quirrel, either way, something isn't right about this and that Stone is in some serious danger. I, for one, don't want it in anyone's hands but the Flamel's."

He stared at them then, daring them to say something, anything. He didn't care if they believed him on his theory, the point of the matter was that something needed to be done and he was going to do it.

Fred and George exchanged looks. Neville looked at his shoes before shifting his eyes to Draco. Tonks just stared levelly at him, saying nothing. Hermione bit her lip and shook her head.

"So what do you propose we do about it? Because you're right. Someone's after it."  
He looked up and said fiercely "I think we should go get it and give it back to the Flamel's. Tonight."

"Tonight?!" Hermione squeaked out.

He nodded. "Tonight."

The others looked back at him. Fred smirked at George and Draco. "And I thought we were the Gryffindors."

And that was how Louis found himself heading through the third floor corridor that night.

 **A/N: This chapter was like pulling out a tooth to write. I didn't enjoy writing the whole Forbidden Forest scene. Most of it's from the book, as you've no doubt noticed, and after that time flows by really fast, as it did in the book as well, and that was weird to write but nonetheless planned. We got some hints about the summer though! I enjoyed writing the scenes between Louis/Harry and his friends.**

 **Two more chapters left. Officially. We have the situation with the Stone, whatever that will be (seriously I'm between two rocks here!), and then the epilogue. I'm so excited!**

 **I just wanted to let you guys know too that I plan on posting an update with this story on when the first chapter for Second Year is available. I feel that would be easiest for us all. I'll take it down after a week. Move it to the A/N of the epilogue probably. People sometimes look there.**

 **Anyway, I have Molecular and Cellular Biology homework to do and a quiz for it as well (yuck) so I'm off.**

 **Thanks for reading and please review!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

They had tried to tell the Professor's, after some convincing on Hermione's part, but McGonagall had waved them off, telling them to keep their mouths sewed in regards to the Stone. She had also informed them that Dumbledore was on his way to the Ministry, that he had received an important summons from Fudge and the Wizengamot. Upon hearing that, Louis, Draco, and the twins had all traded looks. Dumbledore would, no doubt, realize no one had actually called for him. With that, the children knew it was up to them.

Louis met Hermione down in the Ravenclaw common room that night, well past curfew, when even the watchful and mother-hen prefects had gone to bed. It had been decided that Louis would take Hermione with him to the Gryffindor Common Room, under disillusionment charms, as he was the only one, besides Tonks, that knew how to do one, and would meet Tonks and Neville there, where he would apply them on the others there, with her aid.

Hermione sat on one of the sofa's by the fire, wringing her hands in her pants, clutching at the fabric that hugged her thighs. When he closed the door to the stairs behind him, she looked up with wide, fearful eyes and, upon noticing it was him, bit her lip roughly.

"I thought you were Penny for a second there." She said by way of explanation, not that he needed one. He tipped his head in acknowledgement and walked over to her. Standing in front of her, he held out his hand, which she gratefully took and squeezed tightly with her own sweaty palm, before standing up. He released her hand once he guided her into the center of the room, away from everything else.

"It would be easiest if you didn't touch anything and stood still." He told her, taking his wand out from its holster at his wrist. She eyed it curiously.

"How do you know how to do this charm anyway? It's not taught until like . . . fifth year, at least!"

He shrugged carefully. "I just really like charms is all. I'm good at them and read ahead."

Judging by the look on her face, she didn't quite believe him, but it's not like he was outright lying either. He was good at charms, good at all their courses really, and he had read ahead in all of them and she knew that. She did much the same thing, which was how she knew he wasn't telling the whole truth. Hermione didn't know the charm after all and for her, if she didn't know it, that was enough to raise a red flag. And though he liked his friend well enough, the girl did need to realize that just because she didn't know something, doesn't mean someone else doesn't either. She was, if just a little, arrogant. He was sure tonight would be a good lesson in that though.

Upon doing the proper wand movements and whispering the correct spell phrase, the disillusionment was applied and Hermione was practically invisible. "I'm going to apply the spell to me now so I'm going to need you to have your hand hold onto my coat here so we're not waving our arms around trying to find each other for ten minutes." She did as he asked and before long, the charm was in place and they made their way into the hall. They made their way through the corridors in silence, with Hermione clutching onto the back of his black jacket and Sanguini wrapped around his right arm and Natasha in his pocket. Hermione didn't know they were there though, which he hoped would stay and be the case for everyone else.

When they made it to Gryffindor tower, they stopped and waited, having had told the twins to periodically check after curfew. Sure enough, about three minutes after their arrival, George popped his head out and whispered their names. Louis coughed back and George pulled the door to the Common Room open wider, allowing the two eagles to slip on through. Once inside, Louis first canceled the charm on Hermione, which caused Draco to fall out of his seat in surprise, and then canceled his own.

Inside, he found everyone there spread throughout the overwhelmingly red room. On the couch, Neville sat with (now) Hermione and Draco perched on the arm of a chair, glaring at Hermione. Tonks sat in said chair, smirking at the giggling first years on the couch. Fred was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, flames casting warm shadows onto his frame. George stood next to Louis, grinning.

"So we're really going to do this?" Draco asked with a raised brow. Louis stared him in the eye.

"We have to. No one else will."

"Fair enough."

"Alright," started Tonks, standing up and popping her knuckles much to Fred's disgust. They watched as her hair shortened itself into the now traditional pink pixie and she smirked wickedly, pulling out her wand. "Let's get this party started."

They made their way through the corridors up to the third floor linked by their hands, whether it be clutching onto sweaters, grabbing shoulders, or just simply linking fingers, with the twins leading, who would occasionally pull out their map when they were all sure the coast was safe. Wouldn't want someone to see an invisible, floating map now would they? It was because of this map that they narrowly avoided Peeves, much to Neville's relief as Peeves was known to target the poor badger.

Unfortunately, when they made it to the third floor corridor, the door was already ajar.

"Shit." George hissed out between his teeth.

It was then that Louis truly accepted what they were walking into - literally.

This wasn't a simple game. They weren't sneaking around to plant jinxes and trip wires and paint-filled flying birds. They were walking into the arms of the enemy, whoever he may be. There was no turning back after this, not with what rested behind this door.

"If anyone wants to turn back now, I'd suggest you do so while we still can. I'll understand if you want to leave." He told them in a soft tone, wanting to give someone an easy out, anyone. He waited but didn't hear a single set of retreating footsteps.

"Alright then. Let's do this." He and Tonks dropped the charms on everyone and pushing the door open some more, they all walked in.

As the door creaked open noisily, they were met with the sound of deep, rumbling snores in the tender form of growls. Turning their heads, they could see Fluffy the cerberus.

"What's that at it's feet?" Neville asked. Tonks squinted her eyes and the twins craned their necks.

"It's a harp." answered Draco.

They had all done much research over the course of the last couple of months, prepare themselves for what may lie behind the door, just in case. They had known about Fluffy pretty much the whole time though and as such, had made sure to have a definitive answer for him. They all knew that music put the creature to sleep.

"It's playing pretty slowly. I reckon it's about to stop." said Fred.  
"Fluffy there will probably wake up once it does." warned George.

"Alright. Draco? You're up." When they had first learned about the music, the first thing they had done was to see who could actually play an instrument, or even just sing. While Hermione knew a little piano and Tonks could play the violin and Neville could tapdance and Louis knew a few thanks to Shira, it was clear that Draco was the superior being in this sense. The boy had learned many things growing up as a Malfoy and one thing his mother had insisted on was that her son know at least one instrument. Draco could play the piano, the violin, the flute, the viola, the harp, the clarinet, and even the oboe. He was, as far as Louis was concerned, a musical genius.

Draco took a deep breath and pulled out his flute, which he had stashed in a space-extended pocket in the inside of his robe. Pulling the silver flute up to his lips, the boy blew and began to play a very soft tune that flowed together, dancing like petals in a gentle breeze. The dog's eyes, which had begun to open from the halting harp, quickly dropped and before the piece was over, had fallen shut. He was once again asleep.

They hung together in a collective pause before Draco lowered the fe. "Alright. Move it." he said, before continuing to play the tune.

Louis wasted no time. He made his way over to the trapdoor, which had almost been covered by the cerberus's paw but was thankfully not, and with Tonks's assistance, lifted the heavy thing open. They, with the exception of Draco, all crowded around it and peered inside. All that they could see was a dark hole, a big one at that. They traded hesitant looks.

"Are we really going to do this?" Neville asked.

"We have to." Hermione replied sharply, looking not at Neville but at Louis. He gave her a small smile, which she returned not a second later.

"Well . . ." hummed Fred.

"Who goes first?" George asked way too happily.

"I'll go."

They all turned to look at her.

"Are you sure, Tonks?" Hermione asked worriedly, chewing on her lip again. Louis had to get her to stop doing that. She'd chew the whole damn thing off by the time they graduated if he didn't. Honestly, the girl liked to mother but she needed it just as much as they did.

"Positive." The spunky Hufflepuff replied grimly before hoisting herself up into a crouch and jumping inside from her position on the ground. Neville gulped audibly from where he was kneeling.

"I'll go last with Draco." Louis told them and no one bothered to argue.

"Well, best if we go next brother," George turned to Fred.

"Too right you are, brother. Can't be beaten by a Hufflepuff can we?"  
"And we call ourselves Lions!" They grasped hands and stood, jumping down through the trapdoor together.

Hermione took a large breath of air, as if it were her very last and she was saving it. "Guess it's my turn." She stood up on shaky knees and closed her eyes tightly, giving a small squeak as she jumped.

Louis turned to look back at Draco, who was looking a bit lightheaded, before turning his attention onto Neville.

"You can do it, Nev. I know how brave you really are. It's in your blood." He said this, knowing the effect it would have the boy, and feeling a bit guilty for doing so, but that guilt eased just a little when Neville flashed him a grateful look before a mask of determination slipped onto his face. He gave a sharp nod and went the way the others had done before him. Staring into the dark, empty space his friends had disappeared through, Louis took a deep breath and straightened himself out, standing and spinning around to face Draco.

The blonde boy caught his eye and nodded, slowing the tempo of his music as he slowly approached Louis. When he reached the trapdoor, Draco dropped the flute and tucked it back into his inside pocket. They exchanged a look and Draco jumped through, shortly followed by Louis.

They landed on something soft yet firm. It was almost . . . scaly but not quite like any snake he had met just waxy in texture. Looking down, he saw some kind of plant stretching for several feet. It was thick in diameter and to his amazement the plant wrapped itself around his legs, squeezing tightly.

"What the fuck!" He heard someone yell harshly. George.

Looking around, he found the others in similar positions. Fred and George were angrily tugging on their limbs, pulling the plant but that only seemed to make it grow tighter and so Louis tried to relax, trying to recall where he had seen this before. Tonks, who was perhaps the closest to him, was weakly tugging but also had a look of frazzled concentration on her face. Hermione had her eyebrows scrunched and was pulling the plant vine wrapped around her waist down, much to its annoyance. Draco was tugging at his arms and looking around, picking at it, and Neville was shifting a little, with a look of deep thought on him. If anyone could figure this out first, it would be Neville and sure enough Louis watched as the boy gasped in realization.

"It's Devil's Snare! You need to calm down and relax!" He yelled at them all. The twins looked at him as if he were crazy but did slow their movements. Hermione and Draco looked as if they should have realized that themselves and immediately slackened. Tonks shot an annoyed glance down at the vines and huffed. Louis thought she'd have slapped her forehead if she could.

As the Devil's Snare released it's hold on Neville, the boy disappeared into its folds, falling to what Louis assumed was below, safe and sound. Looking back, Draco was staring at the spot the boy had been in as if it were a fire breathing dragon of doom. He snorted. Focus, Louis.

Relaxing his limbs and closing his eyes, he faintly heard Hermione and Draco's bodies slip through the plant to down below. He soon followed and before long, they were all on solid ground again.

"Thank god that's over." Fred sighed, relieved.

"What? You don't like Herbology?" Tonks teased, smirking.

Fred glared at her. "I hate plants." He mumbled bitterly. "At least I'm alive."

"We would've had to use fire or sunlight if you hadn't calmed down enough." Hermione smiled. Fred continued to grumble angry mutterings under his breath.

"Door." Draco called and sure enough there was a door to the side and the group all slipped in.

On the other side of that door had been a room full of flying keys. The golden keys were fluttering lazily through the air and moonlight reflected onto them, casting rays of light every few minutes off of them.

"One of them is probably the key to that door." pointed out Draco and sure enough, when they checked to see if the door was locked, it was. Even after they casted every locking charm they knew, they couldn't get the door to open.

"All the magic in the world and we need a damn _key_." George cried, exasperated.

Tonks looked at him. "The key probably has enchantments on it, to be honest. It's most likely not _just_ a simple key. Bet you anything this is Flitwick's room." Louis and Hermione exchanged grim looks.

"If this is Flitwick's room, and you're right it most likely is, then this is more than it looks. He loves subtle attacks and distractions."

Fred frowned. "How are we supposed to get one though? It's not like we could just _Accio_ the right one over."

"There's a broom over there." Neville said suddenly, pointing. Indeed, there, floating above the ground, was a single broomstick.

"That's not sketchy at all." muttered Draco. Tonks and Louis laughed lowly.

"Well . . ." Hermione began slowly. "Who's the best flyer?"  
George frowned. "This would be a perfect job for a seeker. Gred and I are Beaters and this," he gestured to the keys above "definitely isn't our specialty."

Draco shifted his feet. "I've practiced a bit of Seeking but I'm more of a Chaser if I'm being honest."

Tonks shook her head. "I'm a Keeper. I block things, not catch them."

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "Well, it is most definitely not going to be me." Neville nodded his head with just as much vigor.

"Which one is even the right key?" Fred rolled his eyes.

"It's that one. With the crippled wings." Louis said quickly, pointing at it.

Draco squinted at Louis. "You know, Thompson, you have the right build for a Seeker."

Fred nodded. "Eyes too."

"He's a very good flyer too. Madam Hooch was practically drooling after our practice." Neville chimed in. Hermione nodded her head in agreement.

"He's right."

"Well," said Tonks "that settles it. You're up, Boy Wonder."

To say that Louis wasn't surprised when the keys suddenly all turned to him when he hooked his leg over the broom would be a lie, but he wasn't as surprised as the others (minus Hermione of course). While the assault for sure made things more difficult, Louis was still able to quickly secure the old key and hand it off to George, who unlocked the door while he returned to the ground.

In the next room was the biggest surprise so far.  
"A chessboard." Hermione groaned. "I hate chess."

"Only because you're bad at it." Grinned Tonks.

"I'm going to have to agree with Herms on this one." Draco grumbled.

"Well," Fred began.

"We happen to be-" continued George.

"-quite good at it." They chorused.

Neville turned to them surprised. "You are? I've played with Ron before and he says he's the best at it."

George snorted. "Who do you think taught him how to play? Percy?" Fred and him exchanged a look and laughed loudly.

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "Percy _isn't_ good at chess? It seems like that'd be his thing."

Fred smirked. "Percy is absolutely atrocious at chess. Irks him something good."

"It's good for him." nodded George smugly.

"Anyway, Ronniekins learned from us and we learned from Bill. Now, he's the best at chess."

"So you two think you could win this for us?" Louis asked them seriously because there was no one they could just walk around the board and not play. Besides, Hermione had already tried with Draco and had been viciously blocked by a pawn. The twins looked towards the board and after studying it for a few minutes, gave slow nods.

"We should."

The twins did, in the end, win the game for them all but it was at a cost.

After retrieving the crown from the opposing side's queen, Tonks ran over to George, who was slumped on the floor, unconscious. About a foot over, was Fred. Hermione had a large cut on her cheek from a falling piece of stone and Neville's hands were split up. Tonks had blood mused in with her strands of her hair and Draco was nursing an aching shoulder and breathing harshly. Louis didn't even want to know what he'd look like but he could feel the stretch of cuts and the dried stickiness of blood on his body.

Tonks, turned sharply to look at him. "Two of us are going to have to take them to the Hospital Wing." He nodded. "I'm going with them."

They locked eyes, his blue ones with her sharp, heated brown ones. "I know."

"I'll stay. You guys go." Neville said strongly. Draco hissed.

"I think I need to stay too." He said through his teeth, ghosting his fingers over the fabric clinging to his shoulder. Hermione stared at him in worry.

"You guys go to Pomfrey. Warn someone of what's going on. We'll need the help."

Tonks nodded before her face softened. "Be careful." She whispered, staring at him. He quirked a smile.

"Always."

Grabbing Hermione's hand, he gave it a squeeze and lead the girl through the door to the next room. Almost as soon as the door was shut behind them, fire erupted, blocking their exit, making him have to jerk them away. Inside the room, there was a table with several vials and a piece of parchment. On the opposite side, there was another door, presumably to the next room, and it too was blocked by fire.

They exchanged a glance. "Come on." He tugged her hand.

Once they approached the table, Hermione grabbed a hold of the parchment and read aloud,

" _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

 _Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

 _One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

 _Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

 _Two among our number hold only nettle-wine,_

 _Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line_

 _Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore_

 _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

 _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

 _You will always find some on nettle wine's left side_

 _Second, different are those who stand at either end_

 _But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

 _Third as you see clearly, all are different size_

 _Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides;_

 _Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

 _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."_

Hermione's lips tipped up into an amused smirk. "It's logic." she laughed. "Logic."

Louis shook his head, smiling.

"For all their magical abilities, hardly any wizard's I've met have had a lick of sense, of logic." She laughed again before schooling her features and reading the poem again, lips moving as she silently read it. "Give me a minute and I'll solve it."

Less than two minutes later, the girl snatched up a small bottle. "This one. This one will get you through." She cut her eyes to the side to look at him. "There's only enough for one of us."

He swallowed and nodded, having had already reached that conclusion. "Which one will get you back the way we came?" He didn't have the poem to check himself. Hermione peered down at the words again before pointing at another bottle.

"That one."

"Take it. Return to the others. I'll go on ahead and stop . . . whoever it is."

She bit her lip worriedly, wringing her hands and crumpling the parchment. "By yourself?"

"Only one of us can go on, Hermione, and someone _does_ have to go on. I wanted to come here. It has to be me." He didn't tell her that if it was who he thought it was, then this was personal. She wouldn't understand and would ask questions. He was, after all, an orphaned muggleborn. It wasn't like he was Harry Potter.

She nodded slowly, hesitantly, and handed him the potion that would take him forward before grabbing her own, tightening her fingers around it, turning them deathly pale.

"Louis?" She called as he walked to the other door. He spun around.

"Yeah?"

"I believe in you." She said back firmly before tipping the contents of her bottle down her throat and stepping through the fire, disappearing from his sight.

He swallowed thickly and turned back around. Drinking his own potion, feeling a freeze settle over his bones, he stepped through into the next room.

Later, he wish he would be able to tell Hermione that she was the first person to tell him such a thing and that that statement alone would forever give her a spot in his heart.

Right now, though, he had a monster to stop. Alone.

 **A/N: So I didn't realize until the other night that Louis looks like . . . well Louis Tomlinson from One Direction. Now no one kill me because I honestly didn't even know which one that was in the band and I don't really listen to them either so . . . . I actually had to google the guy and respell his last name when I was writing this paragraph. Funny coincident. Now whenever you guys read you can think of him because he's like a fraternal twin. Very few differences between the Louis in my head and him. It's crazy really.**

 **Next chapter we have Voldemort and Louis and the conclusion of the story. Our last chapter here. Yikes. It's been fun, guys. I'm excited. I'm working out the steps for the sequel and well . . . let's just say some of you may get very angry with me. Second Year isn't the most canon of times. Don't worry though, we'll have the Chamber of Secrets. It's kind of hard to outline though as it really is a mess haha. I think you guys will really like it though.**

 **Confession: I actually started this simply just because I wanted to write the Second Year version I have but I needed to set the stones for it and thus . . . this fic.**

 **Question for the sequel: Shall we have a Slytherin Ginny or no? I kind of want to do that but at the same time I don't think it would either fit or be required so . . . I figured why not as you guys for your opinions. Would that be something you'd be interested in? I might not do it, just so you know. Just asking.**

 **Anyway . . . I'm going to write the last chapter now so you should get that today too.**

 **Please review.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Warning: Very Short Chapter**

 **Chapter 24**

"So it was Voldemort." Draco repeated, leveling him with such an intense look that if Louis were anyone else, he would have flinched back on. Instead, he merely nodded.

"He was on the back of Quirrell's head the whole time. Possessing him or something."

They were in the Hospital Wing. It had been three days since they had gone to save the Sorcerer's Stone. Three days since Louis had encountered the great, feared Lord Voldemort. Three days since the boy had been awake. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, propped up by some pillows. Sitting next to him, with her thigh brushed against his, was Tonks. The girl had a long, thin cut along her blonde hairline. Sitting at the foot of his bed, with one leg crossed on top of the other, were the twins, with their sides, almost their backs, touching, facing him together. Fred had a large bruise on the side of his head while George had cuts all over his cheeks and a bandage on his neck. Sitting in chairs beside the bed, in the space between the two ends, were Hermione and Draco. Draco sat on his left, with bandages and wrappings covering his left shoulder. Hermione sat to his right, knuckles all cut up and bruises covering her arms, one of which was wrapped securely around her middle. Neville stood behind Draco, his lip split and a gash above his eyebrow. In the bed, he sat with a bandage wrapped around his forehead and cuts and bruises all over his arms and legs. He had a deep gash on his left bicep and another, shallower one along his lip line. Voldemort played dirty.

"Why? How did he even know to get here? To come? It's not like anyone was advertising that the Stone was here." Hermione whispered harshly, almost glaring down at his bedspread.

"Someone must have told him. Someone that knew." grumbled Fred bitterly, picking at the seam of his jeans.  
"Or maybe he had just heard a rumor. Give enough information and the risk is worth it." Neville offered but no one, not even the boy himself, believed that.

They sat in relative silence, each just basking in one another's presence. In a way, they had won. They had been victorious. Louis had fought with Voldemort and survived. They had secured the Stone and kept it out of the man's hands, Louis having had explained the Mirror of Erised to his friends. But they each felt that empty feeling, that ache that something was wrong.

They may have saved the Stone but in the end, who knows if they had really done anything. The artifact had been destroyed by Dumbledore himself. Nicholas Flamel and his wife would ultimately have to give up their long life together. They would have to die now. Voldemort had escaped to who knows where and Quirrel was dead, killed by Louis's very own hands. Not that Dumbledore knew that. Dumbledore thought it was a combined effect of Sanguini's poison and the release of Voldemort's possession. Few knew the truth.

" _I have watched you, Louis Thompson. You could be great you know. You remind me so much of myself at your age. It would be a pity to waste such . . . talent. Even I could ignore your blood in favor of it."_

He hadn't told them all that had happened down there, hadn't wanted them to know, to worry, and it was partially eating him up inside. These secrets, these lies, when would they end?

"Am I the only one that thinks those challenges were a little too . . . I don't know _easy_?" George asked suddenly. "Sure, for a group of first years they'd be a challenge but for fucking _You-Know-Who_? Come on!"

The others stared at him, no one knowing what to say. They were all thinking it though. All of them.

"The cerberus? Almost all of Gryffindor House knew about the thing, hell, most of the school knew about it by Yule, so anyone that reads or takes Care would know how to handle that one. Devil's Snare? First year Herbology student. Flying keys? Anyone with eyes and the ability to fly could do that one, especially Quidditch players and the Seekers. Chessboard? I'll give you that one, it was hard as hell, but it wasn't no Master Chess Champion level either. Anyone with a bit of skill could've done it and won, eventually. The potions riddle was just that: a riddle! All you had to do was think! Tell me this doesn't sound fishy to anyone? What kind of shit challenges are those that a group of kids could solve? How on earth were they designed to keep Moldy out?"  
"Maybe they weren't." Draco whispered audibly.

"What?" Fred asked, frowning slightly.

"I said maybe they weren't. Maybe that was the point. Maybe they wanted him to get through . . . or maybe they just wanted us to get in. Maybe not us specifically but someone."

"Like who?" Frowned Hermione.

"Who do you think?"  
Louis dipped his head. "Harry Potter."  
"Makes sense doesn't it? Dumbledore decides to bring in a dangerous, magical artifact that has been safe for centuries and would more than likely remain so, the very same year Potter is said to return. Kid doesn't show but the plans already been set. So maybe they keep it going to trap Skull-Head or maybe they were hoping the Boy-Who-Lived would show?"  
"I thought he was being trained though. That's what the papers said." argued Neville.

Tonks shook her head, blonde hair hitting Louis's cheeks. "If you watch the professors, especially Dumbledore and Snape, they're all worried, constantly whispering and such. I can't tell you how many times I've heard the name Potter thrown between those two. They have no idea where that kid is at. No idea, at all. I bet you they lost him."

"Lost him?" Hermione paled.

"So you think the Stone was . . . what? A training program for Potter?" Draco asked, looking at the twins and Tonks.

Fred nodded.

"That's exactly what we think."

No more talk was done on the topic from then as Madam Pomfrey stepped out of her office and headed towards them. Louis swallowed thickly and rested his head back.

* * *

He was walking down the corridor, bag swaying in his hand, Natasha by his side and Sanguini draped across his shoulders, when he received the owl and the letter it carried.

He had been walking with Hermione and Neville, the three of them having gotten ready them having had met up after they finished packing, and were all heading down to board the train after that evening's End-of-Term feast (with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tying for the House Cup) when an owl swooped down and landed nearby. Hermione, being the closest, walked towards it and peered curiously at the letter clutched in its claws. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Louis. It's for you." His head, which had been slumped down against his chest, lifted up quickly and he rushed forward in excitement and, after scratching the bird's head, took the letter and ripped it open right then and there.

 _Dear Mr. Harry Potter,_

 _I'm not one-hundred percent positive if you are who you say you are. I haven't had any contact with "you" or any of my friends from Hogwarts in quite a number of years and I'm astounded by how you even came up with the information you_ _ **do**_ _know._

 _Nonetheless, there is only one real way for us to settle this matter of truth and as you mentioned it in your last letter, I doubt either of us will be disappointed in it._

 _I agree that we should meet sometime this summer. I will be on vacation leave from my current job by the end of June and so the best time to meet, as I will be traveling elsewhere this year, will be early July and preferably somewhere in London. You may pick the time and place and, should it be agreeable, that will be that._

 _If you are not Harry Potter, rest assured that it will not be a pleasant encounter and should you know you are not him, I wouldn't suggest coming or continuing this correspondence._

 _However, if you are indeed him, then I greatly look forward to seeing you again. It has been much too long and I have worried for most of that._

 _Best regards,_

 _Remus Lupin_

 _P.S. No one shall ever know of this as long as it stays true._

A large grin had stretched itself onto his face by the time that he had finished the letter and he happily, carefully, tucked it back into it's envelope and placed it within his bag.

"What was all that about?"  
"I just sent a letter to an old acquaintance of mine and they finally responded. I wasn't sure it would work." He confessed sheepishly.

Hermione smiled kindly at him. "Well I'm glad it all worked out. Are th-"  
"There you guys are!" A loud voice said from behind them and the three first years spun around. Fred, George, Draco, and Tonks were all approaching them with their various bags and pets. They all met in the middle in a heaping mess of heavy breathing and red faces.

"So this is it, huh? End of the year." George openly grinned.

"This is it. This is the last time I'll see this place." The seventh years had had their graduation ceremony the day before in the Great Hall, with parents and family and professors and friends attending. Tonks was looking around sadly, a wistful smile gracing her face. "In three or so months, I'll be heading to the Academy. Dear Merlin, I've joined the Corps." She suddenly looked frighteningly pale and looked at them as if she had made the biggest mistake of her life. They all laughed, Tonks sounding, albeit, weak and a little forced.

"What do we do now?" Neville asked a minute later, sounding a bit lost. Draco patted him on the shoulder, smiling.

"We go home and come back for another great year next year."  
"Preferably without the Dark Lord." Fred added. They all traded twisted, cynical smirks and grins.

They began to make their way down the corridor, returning to their goal of heading to the trains.

"You should all head to the Burrow." George began happily.  
"Mum's already approved it for all of you." continued Fred.  
"We'll send out letters to get the perfect date."  
Their bags bumped into one another and their footsteps could be heard as they walked.

"Where's everyone going? Or doing?" asked Neville.

"Draco, Mum has filled out the paperwork from Gringotts and the Ministry so you're coming home with me." Tonks broke in quickly. Draco sent her a sad, grateful smile and didn't even try to argue. "As for the rest of you, Mum wants to meet the whole lot so expect an invitation."

"I think it's time to start inventing again." Fred grinned at George.

"I like the way you think, Freddie."  
"Dad sent a letter saying we'll be going to Greece this summer. I'm pretty excited." said Hermione cheerfully.

"Gran was able to find a Herbology Program in California. A whole month of magical hybrids."  
"What are you going to do, Louis?" Draco asked him quietly, bending his blonde head down so only they could hear each other.

"I think I might just explore some of Paris this summer." He grinned cheekily. "Maybe I'll find a Beauxbatons girl."

The boys laughed and they all continued to talk, walking peacefully down the corridor. None of them were filled with worry, just hope and excitement, and if Louis knew his words were a lie, his face didn't reveal it. Because he wasn't going to explore Paris that summer. He might board the train to get there, as Flitwick had set up his travel for him, but he had no intentions of returning to the orphanage. Ever.

Looking over, he smiled as his eyes rested on Hermione's sunburned cheeks and heard Neville's laugh. He smiled as Draco groaned when Tonks ruffled his hair. He laughed when Fred pushed George and George fell overly-enthusiastically into Tonks's arms, much to her annoyance and amusement. This was it. This was his life and for the first time in a long time, he was happy to have it.

Turning his head around to look back at the castle that was slowly fading away as they reached Hogsmeade, he grinned widely. _Until next time._

 **A/N: It's a wrap! With 24 chapters we have successfully completed Year One. I just want to thank all of you guys for reading and sticking around. It truly has been great. Oh and just so you know the whole situation with Voldy was basically the same as canon so I didn't think you'd guys would like to read that whole thing again. Louis will mention it later on in passing so . . . we know what his friends know, plus a bit more.**

 **Anyway . . .**

 **In regards to the sequel . . . here's some spoilers (sorta):**

 **The title will be "The Story of My Life" and it'll have a short summary but the gist of it is that we learn a great deal about Louis and his past, especially his time in France. Expect to see Shira.**

 **We will have the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle's diary but DO NOT expect that situation to go like it did in canon. I really wanted to read a story with Harry getting the diary instead and when I only found one it was a romance fic. So I'm making my own. This does not, however, take away from Ginny. Rest assured, she will be her bad ass self and have a struggle as well. Let's just say her side of the story is complicated. I'm telling you this now so you can decide whether to read it or not. I think it'll be worth it though.**

 **Tonks will pop up. She's not going away. Remus shall pop up too and Sirius will be involved as well.**

 **Louis will be making some big decisions. He's starting a life and he's starting it now. Gringotts and the Potter family stars a small role as does Luna Lovegood.**

 **We learn more about the others as well, especially Draco. This sequel will we sad and have friendly bonding in it.**

 **I shall stop at five, as it's one of my favorite numbers, but there will be one more update on this story, telling you when I've posted the sequel for anyone that is interested. I'm going to go ahead and mark this as completed though for I'll delete that chapter after a week and just include it in this A/N.**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed reading this and I hope to see you for the next one!**

 **Please review.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **ItSlowlyFadedAway**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: The first chapter of sequel to this story has been posted. It is called "Story of My Life" and you just click on my author name and find it there.**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you continue with the next!**

 **-ItSlowlyFadedAway**


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